


Message Received

by Westward



Series: Something More [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Background Relationships, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mostly Tuckington, Project Freelancer, Romance, Slow Build, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westward/pseuds/Westward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wrong message isn't usually the way to start a relationship. Especially with someone you've never even met. Especially if they’re a part of a privately funded, experimental military program.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was in the coffee shop down the street that Tucker received the first text message.

Tucker was sitting down at an open booth next to one of his friends, hot Styrofoam coffee cup in one hand and a fresh blueberry muffin in the other. He leaned into the window by his right side, propping his shoulder against the freezing glass. The chill was settling into his bones despite the winter jacket he wore, but Tucker didn’t really care. His friend, a shorter, chubbier man named Grif, sat opposite of him and was occupied with his own cup of coffee and a frosted brownie the size of his entire hand.

There was a faint vibration coming from within his puffy winter jacket, and Tucker set down his muffin to grab his phone.

 _“Of course Simmons is texting me to tell us he’s going to be late.”_ Tucker thought to himself, frowning as he fished his phone out between spare change and a used tissue. He slid his thumb over the smooth surface as he let out a small muttering under his breath. _“That asshole never arrives anywhere on time.”_

However instead of it being another one of his friends, Tucker found a very confusing, yet very threatening message from an unknown number. The young man could feel his eyebrows furrowing together the longer he stared at the text. Tucker scratched his head, pulling off his aqua colored knit hat and setting it beside his muffin in the process. He could feel Grif shift at his side, noticing the change in his companion’s posture. And yet, the Hawaiian didn’t question his growing confusion, allowing Tucker to reread the text.

_York, if you don’t delete those fucking photos I swear to God that you won’t be able to sit down for an entire week without moaning in pain after I kick your ass.—Unknown, 4:29_

Whoever this York person was, Tucker knew that they had done something to seriously piss off the sender. Initially, Tucker thought that he should politely message the person back, telling them that they had the wrong number. But as he read the message a third time, Tucker found his fingers already typing away a more . . . obscene response.

_Sounds like he can’t take what’s given to him. Bow chicka bow wow.—Message received, unread._

He sent it without fully realizing what he had done. By the time that he realized that he had used one of his awful pick-up lines, Tucker could feel his stomach slowly drop. He literally dropped his phone onto the table. The object clattered loudly, which again caught the attention of Grif, as well as Church as he joined the two at the booth, coffee and snack in hand. Thankfully Church was holding his tongue for his best friend, but Grif was not as controlled.

“Dude. Are you gonna be alright? You look like you just sent a nude to your grandmother by accident.” Grif eloquently put it as he shoved the rest of his hand sized brownie into his mouth. He chuckled as he chewed, a few crumbs falling from his mouth and onto his plaid orange scarf. “Oh god. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Of course not, asshole. But I think I just insulted a random person who texted a wrong number.”

“Wow.” Grif continued, pausing to take a sip from his steaming coffee. “Dick move.”

“And it might have involved an innuendo about dicks.” Tucker sighed, feeling his cheeks getting warmer. It was a good thing that the two could never tell when he was blushing, or else they’d never let him live it down.

“That _was_ a dick move.” Church finally contributed to the conversation, meticulously picking away the chocolate chips from the top his muffin as he spoke. “If I were you, asshole, I’d text them back and apologize.”

“No shit, Church. You thought of that yourself?”

Church scowled at his best friend and then flipped him the finger cautiously, hiding it behind his large muffin. He didn’t want to insult the older patrons.

“Just send them the text, you moron.”

Tucker did just that. He picked up his phone from the tabletop and opened up the conversation again. Just as he was about to send off his typed text, the phone buzzed in his hands, informing him that the random person had replied to Tucker’s message. Tucker’s stomach dropped again and he reluctantly opened the message.

_Good one. I’ll make sure to tell York that after I pry his phone from his fingers.—Unknown, 4:31_

And then shortly after, another response.

_Who is this again?—Unknown, 4:31_

Church and Grif had been peaking over his shoulder, reading the incoming text messages. Tucker caught them in the act and roughly shoved them away from him. Church ended up spilling his still steaming hot coffee onto his pants, causing the college student to immediately stand up and start swearing like a sailor, which wasn’t very hard for him to accomplish. Church’s swearing caused many eyes to drift to their booth. It’s not like Tucker wanted the extra attention, and neither did the other two. Thankfully, Church angrily rushed to the men’s room to clean up, but Grif was not as easily deterred.

Grif was smirking again, trying to hide a rising laugh. Hopefully it wouldn’t rise above a few snickers, or else Grif’s booming, contagious laughter would alert the whole café to their presence. Tucker only glared at him as the other man chuckled out a few words.

“Looks like you either found another person who has your same sense of humor, or they’re just too naive for their own good.” Grif muttered through that smirk of his.

“Just fuck off, man. Go check on Church and make sure he’s not too pissed off at me.”

Tucker had meant it as a joke, because Church was always pissed off, but he was pleasantly surprised to see Grif comply. Grif raised his hands, palms up, in a gesture of submission and stood up from his seat. The Hawaiian headed towards the men’s room, hands roughly shoved into his pants pockets. Now alone at the table, Tucker returned his attention to the unwanted conversation.

_You don’t know me. Sent the message to the wrong number, man.—Tucker, read 4:36._

_I figured that out, Einstein. No really, who is this? What’s your name?—Unknown, 4:36_

Tucker only hesitated for the smallest of seconds before answering them.

_Sorry, won’t tell you. I just met you. Don’t know if this is some lame attempt of identity theft.—Tucker, 4:37_

The reply took some time. Tucker was finishing up his muffin and was wondering if his two friends were returning anytime soon. There still wasn’t any sign from Simmons, but the nerd always seemed to run late for everything. His phone buzzed again, and Tucker didn’t hesitate to look at the text.

_I don’t think identity theft works that way. And even if it did, I would only have your name. That’s not much use to a thief without a string of numbers attached.—Unknown 4:40_

_That’s just what you want me to think.—Tucker, 4:41_

_That’s not what I meant. Look, let me start over again. My name is Washington, what’s yours?—Unknown 4:43_

_Washington? Like the old President dude from like forever ago?—Tucker, 4:43_

_No, like the State.—Unknown, 4:44_

_You’ve got to be shitting me.—Tucker, 4:44_

That seemed to irritate this ‘ _Washington’_ dude for the meantime, because he didn’t get a response from the guy after a few minutes. Tucker didn’t really care and he pocketed his phone as he saw Church and Grif exit the men’s room side by side. Church still looked livid, but the wet stain on his grey-blue winter coat was disappearing, as well as Grif’s patience for the other man. The two sat down, and stared at Tucker.

“So . . .” Church started, a little bite in his words. “You find out who your mysterious texter is?”

“Some dude named after a fucking State, that’s who.” Tucker said, waving off the text as he leaned off of the cold window and onto the table. He barely paid notice to Church’s concerned look before starting up another conversation, directed away from his texting misadventures. “Now where the hell is Simmons? Shouldn’t he have been here like half an hour ago?”

“The dude called me when we were in the restroom.” Grif commented, raising his iPhone for the two to see it. “He said that he’s on his way, but the weather will slow him down because he’s walking instead of taking the bus. The one at the College Union got stuck in the snowbank.”

“Well that’s great.” Church huffed out. “I don’t want to wait around in this place all night; I have stuff I wanted to do.”

“You’re not the only one, man.” Tucker chimed in just as he felt his phone vibrate again.

_I hope I’m not interrupting you with something important.—Unknown, 4:48_

_Nah, just some coffee with assholes. They won’t mind. Why are you asking?—Tucker 4:49_

_I’m bored.—Unknown, 4:50_

_There’s not much to do where I’m from and you’re providing an excellent distraction from the urge to pull my hair out.—Unknown, 4:50_

_Glad to be of assistance.—Tucker, 4:52_

_You’re very sarcastic, do you know that?—Unknown, 4:53_

_Got it from my best friend. He’s worse than I am, especially when he’s angry.—Tucker, 4:54_

_Sounds like you two would be a fun bunch.—Unknown, 4:54_

_You should see us at a party sometime.—Tucker, 4:56_

_I’ll bet. What kind of coffee are you having?—Unknown, 4:57_

_Some kind of organic shit. It’s actually pretty good with the right kind of cream.—Tucker, 4:58_

It was at that time that Simmons had finally joined the crew, waving at the window from the outside as he passed the café. The door chime went off as Simmons entered and a harsh wind blew into the small room. Tucker could feel his cheeks burn against the cold and watched as Church tightened the dark blue scarf around his neck.  Grif seemed to be the most affected by the cold and huddled up, moving his head into his large, over insulated coat like a turtle.

Simmons stamped on the matt to rid his boots of the accumulated snowy brown slosh before he closed the glass door behind him.  His cheeks were red from the cold and his glasses were fogging up due to the temperature difference, but neither observation did anything to deter his relieved smile that was plastered on his face. The tall nerd made his way to their booth, taking off his glasses in one hand and holding onto a white pizza both with the other.

“Sorry I had to make you guys wait. There was a guy in our study group that didn’t know the difference between a core processor and a CPU.” Simmons said, placing down the white cardboard box down on the counter before sitting next to Grif. He wiped as his glasses, blowing on them to get them clean. “And he’s supposedly the top student in the programing major. Idiot.”

“Yeah, because it’s like the difference is _so_ obvious.” Grif said sarcastically as he went to open the cardboard box. Simmons gave the shorter man a small whack on his shoulder and Grif cursed under his breath. “I was  _joking,_ Simmons.  Now what kind of pizza did you get?”

Simmons had brought with him half a cold pizza; his study session at his College Union had run later than he had expected and one of the students had ordered pizza almost an hour ago. Grif didn’t seem to mind the fact that the pizza was old and cold and he immediately dug in, with Church right by his side. Tucker set his phone down, forgetting his conversation with a friendly, bored stranger for the meantime.  Each of the friends had a single piece, and they soon scarfed it down with their coffee.

After they finished their food, the four young men remained at the booth, having a casual conversation for a few hours. The café’s barista looked a little irritated at the fact that the men were staying after they finished their food, but none of them gave her a second look. She looked even more irritated when she saw that they had brought pizza to the café instead of ordering more food, and thus not tipping her.

The weather had picked up after Simmons arrived; the Chicago wind picked up and the fresh fallen snow rose to the air, creating the illusion of small flurries. With a look out the window, the group of friends noticed that traffic had slowed down as road conditions worsened. For it only being late November, a strong Nor’easter was making its way into Canada, dumping at least a foot of snow throughout a day.

“Man, I hope the power doesn’t go out in our building.” Church said, finally commenting on the weather as he tapped the glass window.  He ran a hand through his messy black hair as he stared down the street.  “I can’t remember the last time the heat was off.”

“I thought you liked the cold, Church.” Simmons said, keeping his gaze on the window as well.

“Well it’s a lot better than the Texan heat I grew up in.” Church retorted. “Half a year of nothing but 100 degree weather? I’ll pass. And I don’t like the humidity, that’s for sure; it makes all your clothes stick onto you uncomfortably.”

“I don’t know, Church. I grew up in Honolulu, and I think I’d rather be there right now.” Grif muttered through a sip of his almost emptied Styrofoam cup. “Sometimes I wonder why I left home for Chicago. If anything, I should have gone to Arizona. A nice hot, arid desert sound pretty good at the moment.”

Tucker snorted at that. “Please, I’ve been to a desert. You wouldn’t last there a day without complaining about how dry it is. It’s nothing but dirt and sand, and getting a sunburn is always a bitch. ”

“Hey, can’t I fantasize about heat? You do realize that we’re going to have to go out in that weather when we go back home?” Grif pointed out, growing exasperated.

 At his words, the others deflated, knowing that Grif was right. Even Church who, as they pointed out, loved the cold with a dying passion, looked a little disgruntled with the thought of trudging through eight inches of accumulated snowfall with only jeans and a pair of snow boots.  Simmons checked his watch, and mentioned that it was almost seven now. It was already growing dark, and the streetlights overhead would do nothing to help them on their journey. The four friends would rather be home in this weather than stumbling around in the cold night any longer than they should.

“Alright, you have a point.” Tucker said, finally relenting from their argument.

“Yeah, let’s leave before this weather gets worse.” Church nodded his head as he stood up.

The four left together soon after that. As they made their way down the street and towards their apartment building, they huddled up like penguins staving off the bitter wind. Tucker had forgotten his scarf back in his room and was doing his best to pull his winter jacket closer towards his nose. Simmons was having a similar predicament, except his longer neck was proving to make the task more difficult. Grif, that son of a bitch, was in the middle of the group, using the others as a shield against the harsh wind.

The only one who didn’t seem affected by the cold was Church, who led the group down the street until they closed in on the apartment building, neck and face completely wrapped up in his scarf. 

Tucker ran for the door. Snow was beginning to make its way down his back, sending the grown man shivering from the unwanted chill. He kept the door open as the other three followed him in. Grif let out a small breath of relief as he took off his hat and shook off the snow covering it. Holding his hat by the little puff ball on the top, Grif helped himself to the stairwell. Tucker could hear the shorter, chubbier man mutter to himself as he made his way up the stairs and towards the sixth floor.

“You know, sometimes I wish that we picked an apartment that had an elevator . . .” Tucker muttered as he joined Grif, staying about half a floor behind the fellow.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Grif muttered. He paused between steps and patted down his jacket, a confused look on his face. He then frowned; whatever he had been looking for wasn’t there. And then Grif groaned. “Damn it, Simmons has the key.”

Tucker chuckled as he fished out the keys from his jeans pockets, dangling them just above Grif’s face as he passed him. 

“You son of a bitch.” Grif muttered.

“Guess who’s going to take a hot shower?” Tucker taunted, calling behind him as he continued up the stairs.

“You can be such an asshole sometimes, Tucker.”

“Same goes to you.”

Tucker could hear the other two entering the stairwell. They had probably went to the mailroom and gotten their mail, probably because they knew how badly their other roommates were at doing that simple task. Tucker could hear Simmons and Church talking together as he finally reached the sixth floor. Tucker closed the door behind him by the time that the two reached Grif, with Grif greeting them with an “ _about damn time. . .”_

The sixth floor of the apartment building only housed four separate apartments, each with their own color coated front door. Apparently, all doors in the ten story apartment building were a different color, and it had been that way for decades. The landlord before the current one had been an artsy woman, and had done this on a whim during a Sunday, surprising the past renters when they left their apartments for work on Monday.  The current landlord, a Southern man with a gruff disposition, didn’t have the heart to paint over her work despite the complaints that his Hispanic custodian gave him.

Tucker passed the two doors immediately next to the stair well, a brown and purple in color, and headed towards his own royal blue colored door. Tucker inserted the key into the lock and opened the door, only to be greeted with the smell of something burning. He immediately entered his apartment, setting down his keys and hat onto the nearest table and then ran into the kitchen. There he spotted one of his roommates and their next door neighbor, bent over the remains of what looked like a sadly deflated and burnt apple pie.

“Donut, Caboose? What the hell are you doing?” Tucker asked, sighing between his words.

Donut looked up and frowned nervously. He put down the pair of oven mitts he was wearing and patted off flour from his cooking apron.  Caboose, on the other hand, did not hear either the anger or disappointment that was in Tucker’s voice and held up the abomination sitting in the pie tin.

“We’re baking a pie!” Caboose said proudly, grinning from ear to ear. He set the pie back down on the stove top and ran a hand through his normally dirty blonde hair, except now it was coated in a thin layer of flour and . . . was that pie dough? “The cable went out about an hour ago, and we couldn’t finish our movie. So Donut decided to try out a new recipe he got from the Doctor next door. I wanted to help.”

“Doc told me that it was his grandmother’s recipe, and his favorite desert. I thought that baking in a nice hot kitchen would have been just the thing during the cold weather.” Donut said, his voice was a little more enthusiastic now that he saw that Caboose was unfazed by his roommate’s impending fury. “Except the pie caught on fire halfway through the process. I guess we put too much flour on it.”

Tucker stared at the mess for a few seconds longer before relenting with a tired sigh. If he listened carefully, he could hear the footsteps of the others approaching. He knew that he didn’t want to be around when Church discovered the battle ground that once was their clean kitchen.

“Fine. But you better clean this up, and fast.” Tucker said as he unzipped his jacket and hung it up in the open closet next to the kitchen. Tucker ran a hand through his cropped, curly brown hair before turning towards the bathroom. During that, he caught the two friends’ confused looks. “Church is on his way, and he’ll have a fucking hissy fit when he sees the mess that you made.”

Just as he said that, the three heard the doorknob turn, informing them that Church was already back. Caboose and Donut’s complexions paled and they quickly moved to clean up most of the evidence. Tucker only shook his head and grabbed a towel from the linen closet before entering the bathroom.  He started to strip when he heard the telltale sound of Church’s unusually loud and angry voice. Tucker didn’t want to hear that and turned on the shower, blocking out the noise from the impending shit storm back in the kitchen/living area.

Tucker had been right; a shower was just what he needed to fight off the cold. The hot water running down his back and between his legs felt like heaven. Because Tucker knew that Church would also want a share at the hot water, Tucker kept the shower quick. He shut off the water and stepped onto the bathroom matt. As Tucker toweled himself off, he spotted his phone on the sink near his toothbrush. Tucker picked up his phone, and noticed that he had not answered his last text message from the mysterious stranger.

_If only I could get a good cup of coffee. The stuff they serve here tastes like pencil erasers and ground up dirt.—Unknown, sent 4:59_

Tucker thought about answering the text. Whoever it was seemed to be enjoying sharing a conversation with a random stranger. But then again, they may be doing it out of politeness and holding the conversation until Tucker grew bored and stopped it for him. Tucker knew that his mother was like that, as well as Donut. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable if that was—

His phone vibrated in his hand, and Tucker saw that it was a new text from “Washington”.

_Judging by the time, I’d say that you’re done with coffee at this point.—Unknown, received 6:57_

So they were still texting him. That was strange, but Tucker didn’t question it further as he typed whoever it was another message.

_Yeah, ended up chatting with friends and then headed towards home in this crappy weather. Is it bad for you wherever you live?—Tucker, 6:57_

_It just reached us about an hour ago. It’s a complete whiteout outside.—Unknown, 6:58_

_So I’m guessing you live up in the North East? Or the Midwest?—Unknown, 6:58_

This was feeling like twenty questions again, like back in the café.  Tucker hesitated giving out any information to a complete stranger. But then again, whoever it was had given him more information about himself to Tucker. Like a last name.

_I live in Chicago.—Tucker, 6:59_

Tucker quickly dressed as he turned on the bathroom fan. He pulled on a pair of sweats and a grey T-shirt as he waited for the person to respond. He rubbed down the fogged up mirror, inspecting his hair and teeth before hanging up his towel and exiting the room.

The apartment was quiet now, which could only mean two things. Either Caboose and Donut did what Church wanted and cleaned the place up, or Church escaped with Simmons and Grif to their apartment across from theirs to calm down. Curiosity forced Tucker down the hall and back to the main part of the apartment, where he saw Church reading a book while crawled up into a ball on the couch. Caboose was in the kitchen, getting rid of any evidence of his latest baking attempt.

Church looked up from his book as Tucker drew close. He had changed since he got home; now Church was wearing a blue turtleneck sweater and a pair of loose fitting jeans. His reading glasses were askew, but he quickly fixed that before going back to his book.

“How’d they clean that up so fast?” Tucker asked, motioning towards the kitchen.

“Oh, a little persuasion can get you _pretty far_ when you ask nice enough.” Church said, his tone of voice implying Tucker that Church had done the exact opposite.

“You threatened to kick Caboose out the apartment, didn’t you . . .?” Tucker asked flately.

“Yup.” Church nodded, putting extra emphasis on the P.

Tucker sighed and went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge door as he grimaced ruefully at Caboose. Tucker pulled out a cold water bottle before closing the door and heading back to his small room. He shut the door behind him before falling onto his comfy bed, letting out a tired breath of relief as he did so. And then his phone buzzed again.

_Wow. That’s not that far from where I am. Well at least I didn’t text that message to someone from Switzerland.—Unknown, 7:06._

_Yeah, sorry I don’t speak Swiss.—Tucker, 7:06_

_French. They speak French and German.—Unknown, 7:07_

_Whatever, man.—Tucker, 7:07_

That came off as a little rude. And while Tucker, or any of his friends for that fact, wasn’t really that polite of a person, it didn’t sit well with him. He frowned at himself as he typed another message before they could respond.

_So where are you from? It sounded like not far from Chicago.—Tucker, 7:08_

_About two hours southeast.—Unknown, 7:09_

_So somewhere in Indiana?—Tucker, 7:11_

_Yeah.—Unknown, 7:13_

There was a lull in the conversation, and Tucker picked up on it pretty quickly. He sat his phone down on his bed and went over by his desk. He turned on his computer and started to look through his emails and opened up to Facebook.

Tucker was currently unemployed and desperatley looking for a job. But since the job market was complete shit and he only had a two year degree from a community college, the chances of him landing a job were pretty slim.

Church wasn’t in the same boat, who already had a part time job as a receptionist as he started his last year of classes. The more money that Church pulled into the apartment, the more Tucker regretted not staying at school for a few years longer.  And Caboose’s parents were fucking set for life, and they didn’t expect him to get a job anytime soon. For all of his cheerfulness, even a blind man could see that Caboose was a few cards short of a full deck.

Tucker’s mother could only support him for a little while longer before she’d ask him to come home. Joining the military was looking even better the longer he went unemployed . . .

He received no replies from his applications, which wasn’t too surprising given his track record. Tucker closed out of his Gmail account and opened up a new tab to Netflix. He quickly started up from where he left off with his favorite show and opened up his water bottle. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his Friday night, but hopefully the weather would diminish after tonight. And then the group of friends would go out for a drink on the town Saturday.

Tucker ended up watching three episodes before he felt his stomach growl. Tucker frowned as he stared accusingly down at his stomach. Apparently some coffee, a muffin, and a slice of cold pizza wasn’t enough for dinner. Tucker paused the current episode of Scrubs and stood up. He left his room and headed towards the kitchen.

Church had retired for the night, leaving Caboose to his business. The dirty blonde had long since forgotten about his movie with Donut and was now playing a video game on their TV. It looked like Plants vs Zombies from the corner of Tucker’s eyes, and it sounded like Caboose was growing frustrated with the game. Caboose was moaning in disappointment and in anger, and Tucker hoped that he didn’t break another Xbox controller. Those things were not cheap.

Tucker started up the stovetop and quickly prepared a grilled cheese sandwich.  Knowing that Caboose would want one as well, he started making another sandwich without even asking his roommate. Just as he thought, when Caboose heard the sound of sizzling bread on a frying pan, he paused the game and slowly slunk into the kitchen. Before Caboose could even ask for the sandwich, Tucker placed it on a clean plate.

“Here you go, bud. Help yourself.” Tucker said as he turned back to the stove, speaking over his shoulder.

“Thanks Tucker!” Caboose said, biting through the sandwich with over enthusiasm. 

The game started again soon after that. It acted as perfect background noise as Tucker finished cooking his own food. Tucker flipped off the stove as he grabbed another plate from the cabinet. He joined Caboose on the couch as he ate, watching the man’s gameplay. Tucker finished his grilled cheese just as Caboose finished the level. Tucker checked his watch. It was already 10:20.

“Need help with the couch?” Tucker offered through a yawn.

“No, I got it. Thanks anyways.” Caboose said as he went to turn off the television. 

He placed the controller down on in a small basket with the rest of the apartment’s games and controllers. Tucker nodded and went back to the kitchen. He rinsed off the plate before putting it in the dishwasher. He noticed that the machine was full and he started it. As Tucker left the kitchen, the dishwasher’s quiet hum replaced the silence the TV left.

“Goodnight, Caboose.” Tucker called out as he headed back towards his room.

He didn’t receive an answer from Caboose. But he could hear Caboose groaning as he pulled out the couch’s pull out bed. Knowing that Caboose would make his bed soon, Tucker closed his door and headed back to his computer, not bothering to turn on the lights. He closed his laptop and picked up his phone, turning on the flashlight to help him see through the dark room.

Tucker fell into his bed and pulled off all of his clothes. As he snuggled up and turned on his electric blanket, Tucker reached for his phone on the bedside table.  He checked to see if he had any other messages from his mysterious texter. He hadn’t. Tucker shut off his phone and put it under his pillow before rolling over onto his stomach.

He laid there in the quiet for a few minutes, faintly hearing the dishwasher continue its cycle. The living room lights went off, and Tucker knew that Caboose finally went to bed. Any moment now, he’d hear the man start to snore like a train passing by. Living with Caboose for the past two years allowed for Tucker to get used to the sound, but it still woke him up occasionally.

Tucker felt half an hour slowly pass by whilst he relaxed on his stomach. And he was not yet asleep. Sluggishly, he pulled out his phone from under his pillow and typed a message.

_My name is Tucker.—Tucker, sent 10:57_

 


	2. Chapter 2

Washington didn’t check his phone until the next day, after he had woken up.

His phone chimed, letting Wash and the others know that 5:30 was here and ripe for the picking. Wash groaned as he rubbed at his closed eyes, trying to get all the grogginess out before morning drills. To his left, he could hear York groan at the noise before flipping over onto his stomach and dragging his pillow over his head. North Dakota, on the other hand, was already perfectly awake and dangling his feet above Wash’s head before jumping off of their bunk bed and onto the cement floor. As Wash finally managed to look around the small room, he noticed that one of them was missing.

 "Looks like Maine’s already up running the morning laps.” North commented as he tugged off his nightshirt and threw it on top of the bunk bed.

“You think? We’re getting sausages and eggs this morning.” York commented with a tired yawn as he struggled to get out of his own bed. “Of course Maine would want to be first in line for that shit.  The man could eat a full tub of sausage and still have room for seconds. And we all know that the longer the eggs sit, the worse they get.”

“You do have a point.” North said, nodding his head as he tugged on a pair of pants. He paused in getting dressed to lightly smack Wash on the shoulder, as was customary for weekend morning drills. Wash groaned in response, swatted North’s hand away, and turned over to his other side. “Come on Wash, it’s time to wake up. The last time you arrived late for drills, you had to run laps for the rest of the day. And I don’t think you want to do that for a  _third_  time.”

“If I may quote, you said ‘If I ever have to run laps for an  _entire day_  again, I want you to kill me out of mercy and dispose my body out in the river’.” York said as he finally stood up straight, stretching his arms and twisting his back. He shook his head as he continued. “I have to say it again, but that’s a bit extreme, Wash. Even for a drama queen like yourself.”

Wash knew that the older soldiers were right, even if he didn’t like it, and he forced himself out of his nice warm bed. The cold from outside had seeped into the base during the night and he almost jumped as his bare feet touched the cement floor. Wash sucked in a couple deep breaths as he wandered around the cramped shared room, both trying to wake up and warm his feet up. Running a hand through his thick blonde hair, Wash managed to succeed in one of those things.

 “God, it’s _fucking cold out_.” Wash said as he let out a hitched breath. “I don’t want to go outside in this weather!”

“The cold’s good for your lungs, Wash. It helps refresh them and also stops you from getting sick.” North said as he finished getting dressed.

"I highly doubt that.” Wash muttered under his breath.

In response, the older blonde man grabbed another standard Project Freelancer shirt and flung it at Wash. It landed on Wash’s shoulder, whipping him against the side of the face.  By the time Wash grabbed the shirt off of him, North was halfway out the door, already covered head to toe with Project Freelancer’s standard ACU. “Now get dressed you two, Maine’s going to eat all of the food again before we finish our morning run.”

Washington did as he was ordered. He and York quickly got dressed together, pulling on their standard uniforms a little hastily. When they finished getting dressed in the appropriate attire, the two headed towards the station’s outside track area. Pushing the door open, Wash was greeted with the sun just beginning to rise above the eastern horizon. The sun beams were numerous enough to shine off the snow, helping Washington see his surroundings this early in the morning. Above, the sky was a beautiful red and purple mirage that mixed with a few stray clouds, which turned closer to a dark blue the further West he look.

 York nudged Wash when he noticed the younger Freelancer was staring at the scenery and then the two continued towards the track.

 A few Freelancers were already at the start of the trail, warming up and stretching before running the required seven miles before chow time. In the distance, the younger Freelancer could see other recruits making their way through the frozen over forest path, North included in the bunch.

Wash spotted Connie, who briefly caught his slate-grey eyes. He blushed slightly and waved back at the woman, who then averted her gaze ashamedly and wiped a large wisp of brown hair out of her eye. Wash’s smile faltered, but his steps didn’t as he stood by her side and began stretching. As he did so, the two didn’t break the shared silence; it was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, but rather somewhere in between.

 That was alright for Wash, who was glad that what happened between them didn’t mean their friendship had to end.

 Once Washington felt his blood pumping and his ears begin to tingle from the cold, he looked over at Connie.

“You ready, Connie?” Wash asked, a soft smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

The small brunette woman nodded in response. “You think you can keep up this time?”

“Well this time I don’t have a sprained ankle.” Wash mentioned, giving Connie a rather pointed look as they both started their required morning run.

“Please Wash, you were falling behind well before you tripped over that stump.” Connie scoffed.

 Wash let out a small chuckle and the two continued their run in silence. York and a few other Freelancers joined behind them, and it looked like they were the last group to leave the starting area. They all ran in silence, save for their heavy breaths as they traveled through the woods. It was colder than Wash expected, and he could feel his cheeks and nose turn cherry red through the condensation of his breath.  With a quick glance to his left, Wash could see that Connie was also affected by the subfreezing temperatures, as her ears were turning red at the tips.

It was the thought of fresh food and a warm room that kept Washington moving forward. The two were making good time and were slowly catching up to North’s group until both groups seamlessly conjoined together. Wash felt more like he was in a herd of cattle now, but it was easier to keep a steady pace now that there were others around him.

Apparently Wyoming thought so as well, because his distinct British voice let out a loud “ _Moo_ , sir! I say  _Mooove_  along.”

All around him, the other Freelancer broke their calm façade and fell out of formation. A few laughed at the poorly conceived joke and continued at their steady pace while others paused to catch their breath, bending their legs and holding onto their knees. Wyoming whizzed by them, and Wash could hear the man snickering to himself as he passed. A long minute passed before the others realized that they were falling behind schedule, and York brought them back to attention.

“Come on people, we’re getting eggs today! Move your asses!” York shouted as he started running again, with North right by his friend’s side.

Wash nodded and then turned to Connie. The woman was smiling, her brown eyes twinkling and reflecting the white snow around them. Wash returned the grin and then motioned with his head that they should follow York’s lead. Connie’s smile only grew large as an answer.

A whole hour passed by them rather quickly. The sun rose high enough to peek through the trunks and branches of the trees beside the trail. Wash could feel the flitters of sunlight on his face and it was that, not the freezing cold or the seven mile run, that woke him up. Wash took in a full, deep breath and then pushed himself to run harder.

By the time that Wash’s stomach started grumbling, he could make out the Project’s base of operations in the distance and through the tree line.  There were two trails of white smoke rising from the two main smokestacks, informing him that the furnace was running hard to keep the whole building warm. It was then that Wash wondered just how cold was it outside. When he’d get a chance to sit down he’ll check the temperature on his phone . . .

The events of yesterday quickly came back to the forefront of his mind. York and North’s awful prank, the discriminating photos, and the conversation he had with a complete stranger.  The latter had been a surprising development; one that he never thought would happen to him. Wash wasn’t much of a texter, just ask his parents when the last time he got into contact with them. It drove his mother crazy. So having a somewhat full discussion with someone he didn’t even know almost threw him off.

Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed the latter half of yesterday. Talking with someone that didn't know who he was or what he did for a living. It was  . . . a refreshing change. Not that many people openly accepted and agreed with Project Freelancer’s controversial ideas and course of actions, and sometimes people took their more vocal opinions out on the soldiers during their leave out of the base. Wash soon grew to hate whenever someone asked him what division of the military he was a part of, only because he couldn't stand their looks of concern and disgust after he told them.

 Texting that guy, at least he assumed it was a man that he had accidentally texted, felt like he was giving himself a clean slate. Like he was just a regular, ordinary guy.

 By the time that Wash and Connie finished with their morning drill, the blonde man could finally feel the cold affecting him. As they fell into a slow jog, Wash began rubbing his hands together and then blowing his fingers in a repetitive motion. Connie was keeping her hands on her ears, which had only increased in redness in the past hour.

“Sometimes I wish that fucking earmuffs were standard issue.” Connie cursed under her breath, hands still clamped on to the sides of her head.

“You know Connie, we could probably fill out a requisition form for you if you want.” Wash said, grinning.

 “Ugh, paperwork.” Connie muttered as she led the two of them inside, briefly taking the lead. “Right now, all I want is a plate of sausage and a hot cup of black coffee.

 Wash’s noes wrinkled and quickly caught up to her, walking side by side. “I still can’t believe you can drink that stuff straight from the pot.”

“Do you realize how much sugar you put in your coffee?!” Connie exclaimed, punching Wash lightly on the shoulder as she did so. Wash returned the gesture before she could continue, which knocked her slightly off balance. “Honestly, I thought your teeth would have dissolved from all that sugar at this point. You’ve got such a sweet tooth.”

“Hey, I’m not  _that_  bad!” Wash said defensively.

“Maybe you should pay more attention next time you make a cup Wash, and then you can defend yourself.”

By the time that Wash and Connie arrived at the cafeteria, only half of it had been filled. Most of the Project’s recruits were already seated, scarfing down their food before beginning their scheduled training sessions and other daily chores. Like North had hypothesized, Maine was already sitting down with the rest of their unaccounted squad mates. As Wash made his way to the line for breakfast, he spotted Carolina and South by Maine’s side. The two had already eaten, and their trays sat on the table unattended.

 Behind them, Wash could hear York and North approach. He waved them over and York looked like he appreciated that they held a place in line for them. Ignoring the mutters of the irritated Freelancers behind them, York and North cut through the line.

 “I hope there’s enough food left. I’m fucking starving.” York commented as he rubbed his stomach subconsciously.

“There’s bound to be enough. The question is whether it’ll still be warm by the time that we get to the front of the line.” North commented, his voice still calm and collected even after an hour of running.

“As long as there’s fresh coffee, I’ll be happy.” Connie muttered under her breath.

With Wash and Connie having a friendly conversation with York and North, the line went fairly quickly. The four grabbed a metallic tray as they passed and then soon piled on the still warm meat and eggs onto the tray. Wash grabbed a banana from the pile of fresh fruit while the others went to grab a small Styrofoam cup of coffee. Wash was too self-conscious now to get one as well, after what Connie said only a few minutes ago.

About ten minutes later, the four Freelancers had their food and sat down next to their fellow squad mates. York made a beeline for Carolina as soon as he saw her flaming red hair and sat down between his girlfriend and South, who was currently face down on the table asleep, blonde hair still frizzled and messy from bed. Washington took his seat by Maine and Connie, the former having already eaten his food as well.

 “God Wash, you look exhausted.” Carolina commented when she turned and saw his face. Concern for her youngest squad mate appeared on her face when her brows furrowed together. “Did morning drills tire you out?”

 “Yeah, she’s got a point.” York said, returning his attention to the Blonde Freelancer. He frowned, looking concerned as well. “You’ve got bags under your eyes, and I know from living with you for years that you only get those when you’re sick. Did you catch something? God I hope I don’t catch it from you.”

Wash just glared at York before taking a bite out of a cooling piece of sausage. “Ha ha. No, I just had a hard time falling asleep. Maine snores.”

Maine let out a small huff and then lightly punched the smaller, younger soldier. Well, he meant it to be lightly, but it still sent Wash stumbling.

 “You’ve been sleeping in the same room as Maine for the past three years, Washington. You can’t use that excuse anymore.” North said as he played with his plastic fork, bending the teeth into opposite directions. “Now tell us what’s really bothering you.”

Wash bit his lip as he thought. As he did so, six pairs of eyes looked up for an answer. Even South was looking at him now, and he thought that she had passed out after eating her breakfast. He didn’t feel like he had to share the fact that he’d been having a conversation with a stranger ever since York had pulled that prank on him yesterday. It didn’t feel right.

Instead, Wash came up with something else that was believable.

“I don’t know, maybe because I was expecting you to draw _another hairy dick_  on my face while I was sleeping and then threaten to snapchat it to every single one of your contacts.” Wash retorted. And he wasn’t exactly lying about it. Wash had stayed up way past the Project’s regulation curfew to make sure the older Freelancer wouldn’t try the same trick twice. “So  _excuse me_  if I’m a little grouchy and tired today!”

“Hey, I learned my lesson.” York said as he held up his hands to placate a peace offering.

After he said it, York shifted into a more comfortable position. Wash had been true to his threat yesterday; he had given the older man a beating during their nightly sparring session. Wash may seem smaller in size than the others due to his younger age, and he may not be the most focused Freelancer in the Project, but he’d be damned if that meant he was weaker.

“Next time, take your anger out on a punching bag.”

“ _Next time_ , don’t draw dicks on my face.”

Connie quickly diffused the situation when she noticed the rising anger levels in her friends and partners. She scrapped the metallic tray against the tabletop, bringing the attention off of Wash and York and onto herself. York eyed her, but said nothing.

“Well, it looks like we’re almost done here.” Connie said with a small smile. She turned to the resident Redhead. “Carolina, maybe it’s a good idea for us to hurry up to the training room soon. I heard the Councilor wanted to talk with us before training began.”

Carolina nodded; she couldn’t argue with Connie’s logic. “She’s right. The Councilor will be waiting for us to arrive shortly.”

Wash hadn’t finished eating yet. He watched as his squad went off without him as he tore open his banana and took a bite out of it. The younger Freelancer continued to pick at his food, not wanting to continue morning drills just yet. It felt like he had just sat down five minutes ago. If the clock on the wall was correct, he still had about fifteen minutes before he was needed with the rest of his squad.

He finished his food as others left for the training room. Instead of joining them, Wash fished out his phone from his pocket, remembering that he wanted to check the temperature earlier. Instantly he saw that he received a message from the person he accidentally texted yesterday. Wash smiled to himself and opened the message, only to be greeted to an answer from one of his questions.

_My name is Tucker.”—Unknown, sent 10:57_

They had sent the message just after Wash had fallen asleep. If it had been ten minutes earlier last night, Wash would have been able to respond to the person, Tucker. It felt good to know their name, and Wash smiled again. He quickly added their name to his contacts and then powered down his phone.

Wash checked the time again, and nearly cursed under his breath. Wash sprang up from his seat and rushed out the door, not bothering to pick up his tray and placing it with the other dirty ones at the other end of the cafeteria. He was going to be late again if he didn’t hurry, and he did  _not_ want to run laps again, especially on a Saturday.

Washington sprinted out of the cafeteria and headed towards the large training room on the opposite side of the base. After living inside Project Freelancer’s main base of operations for almost four years, Wash had practically memorized its layout. He knew his way through the winding, seemingly identical cement hallways like the back of his hand. Because of this, Wash wasted no time to catch up with the rest of his squad mates.

Fortunately, when he finally arrived at the training room, the Councilor was nowhere to be found. His squad mates were all lined up and positioned to greet the Project’s second in command; each person stood by their partners waiting to put their hand to attention when need be. The only two that stood alone were Connie, who was waiting for Wash to stand by her left, and Maine.

 Wash felt one of his eyebrows rise as he voiced out his confusion. “Maine? Where’s your partner?”

Maine turned to look at Wash and shrugged nonchalantly. He huffed out a “Don’t know.”

Wash nodded absentmindedly as he finally stopped at Connie’s side. But now that he had brought up that they were missing someone, the others broke formation and looked at Maine’s empty side. Wash could practically hear Carolina letting out an aggravated groan when her brain made the connection that someone was not at their post.

“God damn it, where the hell is Tex?!”  Carolina practically yelled out her frustration.

“Agent Texas has caught a mild case of the flu, Agent Carolina.” The distinct, ever calm voice of the Councilor attracted everyone’s attention. Immediately everyone snapped back to attention, bringing their right hand to their forehead stiffly. Ahead of them stood the Councilor, clipboard in hand and eyes portraying a calm look as he stared at each soldier. “She’s been ordered to be put on bed rest until Wednesday. Until then, Agent Maine will be involved in a different training schedule with Agent Florida’s squad.”

As the Councilor said that, Wash gave the large man a look. His grey eyes flickered to Maine’s blue ones and they held each other’s gaze before the Councilor spoke up again.

“You are Dismissed, Agent Maine.”

Maine hesitated before finally leaving the training room. The Councilor kept his eyes on Maine’s retreating back until he was sure that the Freelancer was out the door. Once he was content, the Councilor returned his gaze onto the others. Wash did his best to keep a straight face. But damn, this man could be _creepy_ when he wanted to be.

“Because we are down a team, the Director has approved a change of plans for today’s training session.” The Councilor paused to look down at his clipboard. He read something briefly before popping his head back up into a straight position. “Instead of having a paired two on two match, each of you and your partners will be practicing together to improve your weak points.”

Wash felt a little bile rise from his stomach. He glanced over to Connie, but noticed that she was still facing forward, ignoring his eye contact.  He knew what he was going to do today, and he didn’t like it one bit. Connie was a master when it came to armed hand to hand combat; in fact it was the reason why the woman had been handpicked for the Project by the Director himself. 

“I believe that you all know what you’re doing for today. Head to your designated areas and begin.” The Councilor dismissed the group and walked towards the exit. He went through the door, but Wash knew that he would keep a watching eye on their top recruits up in the observation room.

Simultaneously, the six Freelancers broke formation. Wash quickly turned to look at York and Carolina, who were headed to the back corner of the room, where a small sparing circle was placed. Carolina, the best out of all of them when it came to  _everything_ , would soon be beating her partner into submission. That is, until the two would switch from student to teacher through half of their timeframe and the redhead would have to try her skill in the art of lock picking.

Connie coughed, bringing Wash’s attention back on the woman. They looked at each other for a few minutes as an awkward silence falling between them. It looked like Wash would be the first one to speak, so he shrugged his shoulders the break their stillness.

“Well, how’s your aim?” Wash asked, knowing that his strongest point was his skill with firearms.

“Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. And your blade skills?” Connie countered, crossing her arms together. She leaned onto one foot, distributing most of her weight onto it. “Last time I checked, you could use some work.”

“The last time you checked was last week.” Wash sheepishly replied, rubbing at the back of his smooth neck.  A moment passed before Wash let out a small, defeated sigh. “I guess I could still use the practice.”

Connie nodded, “Alright.”

And with that, the two headed to one of the empty corners of the training room. As if the Councilor predicted their course of actions, Wash and Connie found a stilted case with a pair of black painted batons and two sharp serrated combat knives. Wash gave the knives a hard stare, but soon dismissed their existence as he hovered one hand over a baton. Without thinking, the two partners picked up the wooden batons for practice. As Connie tested the weight and balance of the wooden baton by flipping it in her hand, Wash ran his hand over the smooth surface. He already knew he was coming out of today with a few new bruises.

“Are you ready Wash?” Connie asked, her grip tightening on the baton’s handle.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. . .”

“Oh come on you _big baby_ , I’ll go easy on you.”

The two fell into defensive positions. Wash steadied himself, breathing in and out calmly. Before he fully concentrated on the weapon in his hand and on his opponent standing opposite of him, Wash could hear the other four Freelancers hard at work. That made him a little self-conscious, but he nodded at Connie that he was ready anyways. Connie nodded back, and then smirked.

Connie was quick to work when it came to their training sessions. She lunged at Wash within a single heartbeat and the blonde man had only a second to respond. The sound of wood against wood rattled in his ears, especially when it scrapped together as Wash did his best to misdirect the baton away from his body.  From the corner of his eye, he could see small bits of black paint fall to the ground, exposing the baton’s natural wooden texture.

Wash took a half step backwards and towards the right, focusing his attention on his footwork as he tried to take advantage of Connie’s exposed side. But the smaller woman was  _fast_.  By the time that Wash lunged, Connie was back on the offensive. She quickly drove her baton at Wash’s and twisted it until Wash lost his grip on his. The baton clattered against the ground and Connie “stabbed” hers into Wash’s lower abdomen.

“And . . . you’re dead.” Connie said smugly as Wash let out a small grunt of pain. She watched as Wash rubbed the growing sore part and ignored the glare she gave him. “You’re stance and footwork are good, Wash. You don’t need to concentrate on that part so much now. Does it at least feel natural at this point?”

Wash half nodded while he bent down to pick up his weapon, shrugging before he spoke. “I guess? I just don’t like close quarter fights.”

“But you’re really good when it comes to unarmed fighting. This isn’t much different.” Connie pointed out as she fell back in a defensive position.

“ _Not much different.”_ Wash scoffed under his breath, but he knew Connie had heard him. Still he followed Connie’s lead and went back into position. “You know, there is a big difference. Unarmed, you can take a few punches and still live. Taking a stab wound to the chest? I don’t think so.”

“Come on Wash, it’s all in your head.” Connie said comfortingly, using her baton in hand to tap her temple gently. “Once you realize it’s the same damn thing, your instincts will be a lot easier to follow. Just give it a try now, before we start using real knives.”

Wash faltered at that, letting out a goofy sound of confusion.

“Wh- _what?_ ”

Connie paused and gave Wash a confused look. “You didn’t get the memo telling how they wanted us to start using real knives after today’s practice?”

“When did they tell you that?!” Wash’s panicked voice rose in pitch by about an octave and a half.

“Oh my god, Wash. We got an email last Wednesday!” Connie said, an aggravated sigh escaped her lips. Wash watched as Connie face palmed, and then groaned into her hand. “Do you ever check your email?!”

“Yes! Every goddamn day. I didn’t get that email.” Wash pushed, fully believing his words.

“This information was kept from Agent Washington, Agent Connecticut.” Wash was surprised that the Councilor was able to sneak up on him like that. It cause Wash to jump slightly, but hopefully he hid his surprise from the older gentleman. The Councilor stood still, changing his gaze from the panicked Blonde man and onto Connie. “The Director and I both agreed on this. If Washington is capable of vast improvement, it would be while he is under pressure.”

“When was this decided?” Wash asked, hurt at the fact that he had been left out of the loop.

“Two weeks ago, Agent.” The Councilor returned his gaze towards Wash, his dark brown eyes meeting Wash’s slate grey ones. A few long seconds passed and Wash had to avert his eyes. “After studying your past improvements when it came to hand to hand, we noticed that you progress at a higher level when stressed.” There was a small pause. “Are you under stress now, Agent Washington?”

“ _Uh, kind of!_ ” Wash felt himself growing snappy, and he needed to remind himself that the Councilor, while not an official combat officer himself, still outranked him.

“That’s good. Connecticut, switch to knives.” The Councilor ordered her as he walked away, heading towards the sparing Dakota twins.

Wash stared at Connie for a few seconds, silently begging her to disobey orders  _just this once_. Instead, Connie grabbed her forehead gently and shook her head, letting out a tired, defeated sigh. Slowly she made her way back to the supplies and picked up the knife. Wash followed her, but didn’t pick up the other combat knife. Instead, he stared at it as if it was the Black Plague personified. Connie tested the knife just like she had with the baton, pinching the tip of the blade before flipping it, catching it by grasping its handle perfectly.

“Alright then Wash. Let’s start out nice and slow.”

* * *

 And that was how Wash ended up in the infirmary, left shoulder and upper arm gushing out blood.

The top half of his CPU, covered in blood, was still back in the training room, along with a blood covered knife. His chest was bear, as his Standard Project Freelancer T-shirt was wrapped around the stab wound, acting as a makeshift bandage until a professional could look at it. It was covered in blood, and Wash was slightly unsettled when his brain finally made the connection that it was  _his_  blood.

At least now he was on a cot, resting on his back and looking at the ceiling as one of the doctor’s stitched his arm back together again. They gave him a small dosage of morphine, effectively blocking out the pain for the meantime, and he was even more disoriented than before. Throughout the entire ordeal, he felt both hands clench and unclench into fists several times.

He heard the tiny clink of the needle against the metal operating pan, and Wash looked to the left to face the doctor, who smiled back at him. Wash smiled back at him, still slightly delirious.

“Alright Washington, you’re good for now. Just keep the stitches clean and try not to get it infected.” The doctor said, patting the Agent’s uninjured shoulder gently. “The wound should heal in about two weeks. No strenuous activity until then. Jogging is fine, and since that’s not your dominant arm, so is shooting. But no sparring or else you could pull the stitches out. Understand?”

Wash went to open his mouth to say yes but instead nodded halfway through.

“The effects on the morphine should dissipate after an hour or two. Stay here until the disorientation fades, and then you can go back to your room.” The doctor said as he stood up. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me. Just call my name and I’ll hear you.”

Wash took a few seconds to nod again, and the doctor nodded back before heading out the door. The blonde soldier let out a small sigh before accidentally banging his head against the cot’s stiff pillow hard. He let out a small groan before rolling over to his side, resting on his uninjured side. That was when he noticed that he wasn’t entirely alone.

Agent Texas was on the cot next to him, currently covered in a thick blanket and hiding her head under it. She was only identifiable with her long dirty blonde hair that poked out of covers and rested on the unused pillow. If Wash listened, he could hear Tex’s stuffed up nose as she breathed through her sleep. And she was asleep, because that was the only time the woman was ever still.

Great, now he’s going to get the Flu, along with a stab wound that’ll leave a nasty scar for the rest of his years. Somehow Wash just  _knew_ that today was going to be one of those days, and he just ignored his gut instinct. Wash didn’t like being sick, and he distanced himself from Tex as much as he could before realizing he was dangerously close to falling off of his cot.

Wash was halfway through standing up to get the Doctor to ask him if he could leave now when he heard Tex giggle. Wash froze in place and stared at her covered form. The last time he checked, Tex didn’t  _giggle_. Maybe chuckle or laugh her ass off, but never giggle. He remained quiet, listening to her again until he heard her blow her noes under the cover.

“Tex, are you awake?” Wash asked hesitantly.

“Fuck off, Wash. I’m trying to sleep.”

Okay. Wash made a mental note to never bother Tex when she was sleeping and/or sick. That would be a quick way to get on the Freelancer’s bad side. Still Wash pressed on, the morphine affecting his common sense.

“That didn’t sound like sleeping to me. What are you doing?”

“Fine.” Tex said defiantly. With one of her hands, Tex exposed herself by flinging her covers off. She quickly got up into a sitting position, and Wash had a full look at her sick face. One cheek was completely red, as she had been lying on that side for too long, and a shiny streak on her chin told Wash that she had been drooling. Her dirty blond hair, which was usually perfectly kept in a bun or a ponytail, looked like a rat’s nest, but Wash would never tell her that. “I was texting my boyfriend. It’s the only thing I  _can_  do while here.”

“Wait, you have a boyfriend?” Wash couldn’t help but ask.

“I do have a personal life outside of the Project, Wash.” Tex said as she fished out her phone from the covers. “Unlike other people, I don’t want to spend most of my life  _obsessed_ about being the best damn soldier.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who Tex was referring to. Wash felt his conscious telling him that he should let the conversation drop. With the competition that Tex and Carolina had with each other at an all-time high, it was better for his safety to stay out of it. Wash nodded and shrugged, sucking in a deep breath when he felt a sharp pain in his injured shoulder, and turned to face the other side of the infirmary.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thanks.” Tex huffed out grumpily, not sounding the slightest bit grateful.

However, speaking of texting reminded Wash that he didn’t have to be completely bored. He lay back down on his back and carefully pulled out his phone from his pants pocket. Opening the message app, Wash quickly found his newest contact and started typing up a message.

_How is your Saturday so far?—Wash, 11:23_

Wash was left impatiently waiting for a response, but he knew he shouldn’t be irritated at a man he didn’t really know. Still, a few minutes ticked by and Wash inevitably let out a large huff of air as his patience finally ended. He started to bob his left leg, an anxious habit he developed as a child and was never able to get rid of.

Finally, after what felt like forever, there was an answer.

_Sleeping. But I’m up now.—Tucker, 11:32_

Wash could practically taste the irritation in the man’s text. He was surprised that the text didn’t end with an “asshole” tacked on. From their small conversation yesterday, Wash had a feeling that Tucker was the type that swore a lot. Still, Wash felt slightly guilty for waking the poor dude up. Wash then remembered that civilians, or even people outside the Project, didn’t have a set curfew at 9 at night. And no one with a brain would get up willingly at 5:30 on a Saturday.

_Sorry about that. I forget that some people like to sleep in sometimes. I’ve already been up for six hours.—Wash, 11:34_

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_What the fuck man? Six hours? Do you live on a fucking farm?—Tucker, 11:34_

At that Wash chuckled, and then hoped that he hadn’t woken Texas, who he could hear faintly snoring next to him now. She must have been really sick if she could fall asleep that quickly. Well, at least he had been right about Tucker and his swearing.

_No, I’m military. It’s far worse than farming.—Wash, 11:35_

_There’s a military base around Chicago?—Tucker, 11:37_

_It’s not a well known of a base.—Wash, 11:38_

That was a lie, an outright lie by his part. Project Freelancer and its base was most likely the most known within the United States and her territories, and not necessarily because of all the good it was doing. Project Freelancer was involved with cutting edge technology to produce the best soldiers for the next generation, however possible. _“To lead humanity towards the stars”_. That was their mantra, and their Director had every intention of achieving just that.

Whether the Director was achieving it humanely was still up for debate. Just look at any Freelancer as an example.

_Anyways, do you have any plans for the day?—Wash, 11:39_

_Other than laundry? Nah. Maybe go out job searching if the temperature rises later.—Tucker, 11:41_

_Job searching?—Wash, 11:42_

_I’m broke and living in a big city on borrowed money. I need to find a fucking job or else I have to move back into my mom’s house.—Tucker, 11:43_

_And I take it that you get paid for being in the military?—Tucker, 11:45_

_Most of my money goes to my parents. I live on base and they provide us with basic needs.—Wash, 11:46_

_Shit, I should have gone into the army.—Tucker, 11:47_

_So what the hell are you doing now?—Tucker, 11:47_

_I got stabbed, so I’ve been put on bed rest for now. Hopefully I can get back on my feet soon.—Wash, 11:49._

It wasn’t until Washington pressed the send button did he realize his mistake. He bit his bottom lip as he waited for Tucker’s response, unsure of how the other man would respond to such information. Fortunately, Wash didn’t have to wait very long to know what Tucker had to say.

_You got stabbed. Stabbed. And you’re just casually talking about it? Fuck what I said about joining the army. I’d rather keep all my blood inside my body, where it belongs.—Tucker, 11:50_

_It’s a tough life, and it’s not for everyone.—Wash, 11:51_

_No shit, Sherlock.—Tucker, 11:53_

And that was how Washington spent the rest of his time in the infirmary. After an hour of sitting around, the disorientation tampered off, and Wash felt stable enough to head back to his bunk. He held his phone in his right hand as he stumbled back to his shared room, occasionally texting the other man whenever he responded. It was only when he was back in his own bed that Wash felt the effects of the day hang overhead him, and he soon grew tired.

Getting less sleep than he was used to and then exercising for five hours was had tired the young man out, and he found himself yawning frequently. But still he texted Tucker; they were now having a full conversation without pauses, and Wash found it very relaxing. He was content to have his phone rest against his chest, propped with one hand as he typed with the other.

However, Wash couldn’t fight his fatigue forever, and he fell asleep mid-text around three o’clock.

_No, I don’t think cats are better than dogs. I never said that. I don’t have anything against dogs. I just think that cats are much more. . ._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Tucker never believed that he’d turn into those people that never put their god damn phone down. There were plenty of better things to be doing, like playing videogames, doing laundry that should have been done two weeks ago, or bar hopping to pick up chicks for a crazy one night stand. But here he was, messaging a man named Wash during a boring Thursday afternoon, empty clothes hamper by his side as he stood alone in his building’s laundry room.

He still had ten minutes before he’d have to move his wet clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. That wasn’t enough time for him to go back up to his apartment, so Tucker found a chair and sat down, dragging his clothes hamper behind him. As he sat down, Tucker pulled out his phone to text a response to Wash. The sound from the other numerous machines at work filled the man’s ears with white noise, lulling him into a sleepy state.

_How’s your arm?—Tucker, 5:02_

_Not bad, a little stiff to move. The worst part of it is keeping it clean.—Wash, 5:03_

_And it was your girlfriend that did that, right? Wow. She sounds like a bitch.—Tucker, 5:03_

_Ex-girlfriend, we broke up about three weeks ago. And it wasn’t her fault; she was helping me with my knife skills. It’s my own fault that I got stabbed.—Wash, 5:05_

_Dude, it should never be your fault that you got stabbed.—Tucker, 5:06_

_Connie’s a really nice girl and a very good friend, Tucker. She’s actually feels really guilty about it.—Wash, 5:08_

_Stop defending her, that’s not right. –Tucker, 5:09_

There was a beep from one of the machines, and Tucker knew that his clothes were done with the wash cycle. Tucker deposited his phone in his back pocket and trudged over to the washing machine. Bending over it, Tucker was able to grab the bulk of the wet clothes. Carrying it with one hand, Tucker twisted around and made for the row of dryers.  He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but ignored it until he had put all of his wet clothes in an open dryer.

Tucker groaned as he stretched his back, popping a few joints in his shoulders, and then dug around his pocket for some loose change. He found the required 75 scents he needed for a quick dry cycle and fed the quarters into the slot. Once he felt the machine rumbling under the pads of his fingers, Tucker reached for his phone. Leaning against the vibrating machine, Tucker opened the message.

_She was just following orders.—Wash, 5:10_

_So in the military, higher ranking officers order fellow soldiers to stab each other? That’s fucked up.—Tucker, 5:14_

_They thought that using real knives would give me extra encouragement to improve.—Wash, 5:15_

_That’s still fucked up.—Tucker, 5:15_

_It is.—Wash, 5:16_

_Can we please change the subject?—Tucker, 5:17_

Tucker sent the message and then left the room. No one would steal his clothes hamper and he still had about an hour before his clothes were dry. Tucker entered the building’s stairwell and started climbing the stairs. About halfway through his journey, Tucker felt the vibration from his phone. Tucker pulled out the thing as he reached his floor and read it while he tried to open his apartment’s door.

_Go ahead. We can talk about the overwhelming benefits of having a feline pet again or we can . . ._

“Hey Tucker?” Grif’s voice came from behind him.

Tucker turned around, forgetting about the text message for the meantime.  Grif was standing with his apartment’s red door slightly ajar. He was wearing his favorite pair of sweatpants and his hands were shoved in their pockets. A cigarette was held in his mouth, a small trail of smoke was wafting through the air because of it. Grif had a dull, bored look to him and when he noticed he had gotten the other man’s attention, he motioned towards his apartment with his head.

“Are you coming over for game night?” Grif asked as his right hand grabbed the burning cigarette and allowed him to breath out the smoke.

“Yeah, I’m still coming over. Just give me a few seconds to see if Church and Caboose want to.” Tucker said as he grabbed the door handle. He gave it a good tug and then walked into his apartment.  Before he closed the door behind him, Tucker gave Grif a serious look. “But if we’re playing Halo again, I might lose my god damn mind.”

“Fucker doesn’t know a good game when it hits him in the face . . .” Tucker heard Grif mutter before he closed the door on the other man.

Tucker went to the kitchen first and grabbed a Poptart from the pantry. Not bothering to heat it up, Tucker bit into one of the strawberry flavored tart and chewed. He spotted Caboose in the living area, napping on their sofa with the television still on. The History channel was playing, and was most likely the cause of Caboose lulling to sleep. Tucker could hear a few of Caboose’s snores; they were still quiet, so he had probably fallen asleep not too long ago.

Tucker grabbed the remote and shut of the television. He then walked around the couch and stared at Caboose’s sleeping form. Caboose was the only person Tucker knew that could sleep comfortably on his stomach, arms tightly at his side. The man’s snores were louder now that the noise from the television was gone. If Tucker didn’t know any better, then he’d bet all his remaining rent money that all Caboose did all day was sleep or play video games with Donut.

He sighed before he tapped Caboose on the shoulder to wake the man. Caboose groaned and then opened his eyes slightly, a small frown making its home on his face. He slowly recognized the man in front of him. And then he frowned.

“Tucker?” Caboose managed to utter out his name.

“We’re having game night with the others in a couple minutes. Are you coming?” Tucker asked.

As soon as Tucker mentioned game night, Caboose sat straight up, wide eyed and completely awake. It startled Tucker, who jumped back at the display with an obscenity and accidentally hit the coffee table with the back of his legs. After making sure that he hadn’t knocked anything off, or bruised himself, Tucker turned back to Caboose.

Before Tucker could even voice his confusion, Caboose spoke. “Yes. I will go. Wait! Will there be food?”

Tucker hesitated before nodding, still confused over Caboose’s quick change from his sleepiness to being wide-awake. And Caboose didn’t even drink coffee. Now Tucker didn’t want to see the big man on that drug. He also made a mental note to never let Caboose near his hidden stash of Red Bull in his room.

“Well, knowing Donut, there’s bound to be some shit over there. Hell, he probably baked peanut butter cookies again.”

“I’ll get my snack bowl.” Caboose said before heading towards the kitchen’s cabinets.

Tucker shook his head and left that part of the apartment. He headed down the hall and then knocked on Church’s door. There was no reply, but Tucker could hear his best friend’s voice through the thin wooden door. He was quietly chatting with someone, but Tucker couldn’t hear the other person. This was strange; Church didn’t have any friends outside of their small group; no one else would be able to put up with him and his occasional bouts of rage. And Church rarely brought someone from College back to the apartment.

His curiosity got the better of him and Tucker carefully opened Church’s bedroom door. Fortunately the door didn’t squeak, and thus not giving him away, and Tucker was able to catch a glimpse of Church on his bed. His best friend was holding his phone at about half an arm’s length away from him. The angle wasn’t that great, but Tucker could still see that he was FaceTiming with what looked like a blonde woman.

Tucker didn’t move from his spot. For a brief second, he thought he should just shut the door and leave Church and whoever his friend was alone in peace. But Tucker was fully surprised that Church wasn’t talking with his usual loud and aggravated vice, and he wondered what was different from this girl than his circle of closest friend. Even if his said friends were obnoxious morons.

“Nah, I don’t think I can do that weekend, Beth.” Tucker could hear Church say softly. Church slowly brought his legs up into his chest and folded his free arm around the limbs. “I’ve got a final the Monday after and it’s the class I’m failing in. There’s no way we can make it to Atlantic City if my parents catch wind about my grades. We could work it out if we stayed in Chicago, but that’s it.”

“Spoilsport.” The woman, Beth, said. She sounded slightly deflated at Church’s words as she let out a small sigh, which was soon accompanied by a sickly sounding sneeze. Tucker watched at Church cringed at the sound, and then grimaced as the woman blew her nose. Tucker also grimaced when she took longer than necessary to do so. “Sorry Leonard. The Doctors thought I would feel better at this point.”

“Geeze. How long have you had it now?” Church asked, sounding more concerned than disgusted.

“This is the sixth day. Honestly, at this point I’m just fucking tired of being sick.” Beth said, her voice sounded clogged up due to the state of her nose. “I’m tired and sore and I can’t do a damn thing.”

“Do the Docs at least have you on some kind of medication?”  Church continued to press. “Or, shouldn’t they, you know, take you to a hospital off base to help you recover?”

“Believe me; I am up to my damn eye balls with meds.” Beth sighed as she rubbed her temples. Or at least Tucker thought she was rubbing her temples; it was a little hard to see the phone’s screen. She sniffed her nose again before continuing “And the Director here doesn’t want us off base any more than he already is. Honestly, I’m surprised he gave us a weekend off before the Christmas holidays.”

“I wish that he’d be a bit more generous than that.” Church said, and Tucker could hear the irritated frown in his voice. “He sounds like a fucking ass.”

“The man’s a bit of an ass, yeah.” The woman agreed, grimacing at her words “But I agreed to his rules when I joined up. He can do whatever the fuck he wants and I can’t do anything about it. Not unless I want to get kicked out of the Project.”

“No, don’t do that, Beth. This is what you wanted . . .”

It was at this point that Tucker realized that he was interrupting something rather private. He slowly closed the door, careful not to alert the two to his presence. When he finally closed the door, Tucker quietly went back to the living room, only to find that Caboose had already left.

Tucker didn’t know that Church had a girlfriend. Hell, he’s known the guy for six fucking years and he’s never seen him with one exclusively. Except for Becky Davis, but that was back when they were both freshman in high school. And the two agreed never to speak of Becky again if they wanted to continue their friendship. After that, it had been a few unsuccessful first dates back a few years ago when Tucker had been in college. But that was it.

Seeing his best friend not only seemingly dating someone, but concerned for her health really threw Tucker through a loop.

No matter, it’s Church’s personal life. Not his.

Tucker was making his way towards the door when he remembered to bring the drinks for their weekly social gathering. He made his way to the fridge to grab a couple of bottled beers. The brown bottles felt cool to his touch and he carefully stacked four of the beer bottles under his arm. That would be enough for Tucker and the others; Caboose didn’t care for beer too much, and Donut always preferred to make his own drinks.

He felt his phone pressed against his stomach as he tightened his hold on the booze, and Tucker remembered that Wash had texted him. Carefully pulling out his phone from his hoodie’s pocket Tucker checked his messages.

_Go ahead. We can talk about the overwhelming benefits of having a feline pet again, or we can talk about the current economic and social state of North Korea.—Wash, 5:19._

Surprisingly, the text made Tucker laugh out loud. Tucker had learned very quickly that Wash’s sense of humor was very different from his. It was quick, dry, and witty as opposed to Tucker’s own vulgar and obscene jokes. It had taken Tucker about a day to fully understand it, but now he was familiar enough to recognize that Wash was joking right now.

_And you said that I was sarcastic—Tucker, 5:29_

_Maybe it’s the reason why we keep on texting each other.—Wash, 5:30_

_Well it’s certainly not because of my fucking friendly personality.—Tucker. 5:31_

_You seem friendly enough to me.—Wash 5:32_

There was an angry knocking on the door, and Tucker quickly pocketed the phone. He rushed to the door and opened it, only to find a slightly irritated Simmons in front of him, dressed in a maroon knitted sweater that was a size or two too large and khaki pants. He had his arms crossed and was impatiently tapping one foot. Tucker met Simmons’ angry glare.

“You coming over or what?” Simmons asked. He pointed a thumb at his red colored door, and Tucker’s eyes followed the motion. “Donut and Caboose are begging us to play Left 4 Dead, and remember what happened last time?”

Tucker groaned; he did remember what happened. There was still a stain on their carpet from the last time they played. And no amount of shifting their large sofa around was going to hide it. At least that god awful smell was gone.

“Oh god.” Tucker managed to utter out. “Hold on, I’m coming over. What do you guys want to play?”

“Personally? Some good old Halo Thr—”

“What’s with you and you’re fucking boyfriend when it comes to Halo?” Tucker muttered as he finally stepped out of his apartment.  Tucker closed the door behind him and ignored the pointed look that Simmons gave him. But for the record, Simmons didn’t deny it. Instead, Simmons shook his head and led Tucker into his apartment.  As Simmons opened the door, Tucker fished out one of the bottles and handed it to him. “Fine, but only if we play capture the flag. Dibs on Blue team.”

At that, Simmons scoffed. “Blue team sucks.”

As Tucker entered the living room, he noticed that Caboose and Donut where already in their usual spots around the television, just in front of the tiny, marked up coffee table. A largo plastic orange bowl that was filled to the brim with microwave popcorn sat on top of the table, a few kernels displaced on the table’s surface. Simmons sat down in the middle of the large sofa and grabbed his Xbox controller. Grif was nowhere to be seen, but the distinct sound of a flushing toilet told Tucker where his other friend was.

Simmons noticed that his controller was busted and let out an aggravated sigh as he stood back up. As the tall man headed towards the kitchen, he called out to the others.

“Hold on a sec. I need to grab a new battery.” Simmons said as Grif came out of the bathroom.

Tucker grabbed the TV’s remote and turned on the cable. If he had to wait for Simmons to scrounge around the Kitchen’s drawers for a spare battery, then he’d rather be spending the time watching television. Tucker flipped between the channels, and Donut and Caboose quickly joined him as they leaned against the coffee table. He could hear Caboose munching on popcorn.

_“You get a car, and you get a—”_

Tucker flipped to the next channel.

_“Whoever’s the owner of a white Sudan, you left—”_

_“ And that’s why I never leave my house without my—”_

_“. . . is still met with protest across the nation. Many people do not believe that the Project is upholding the rights of its recruits as they promised, and internal affairs believe that they may be cutting corners—”_

“The fuck are you watching?” Simmons asked as he finally returned to the couch, Xbox controller in hand.

“Nothing really, I'm just flipping between channels. Are we ready to start now?” Tucker said as he handed the remote over to the other man.

“Yeah, as soon as Grif comes back here.” Simmons said, motioning over to the kitchen with his head. Tucker turned around and saw Grif raiding the fridge. Grif closed the fridge door and came back to the others, cold sandwich in hand. “Get over here, fat ass.”

 “I’m coming, hold onto your dick.” Grif asked as he fell into the sofa by Simmons’ side.  He bent forward and grabbed one of the beer bottles Tucker brought over and twisted off the cap. As he took a swig, the Grif took a second look at the couch.

“Wait, where the fuck is Church?” Grif questioned out loud. It felt empty now that the others noticed it wasn’t holding the usual four occupants. Four pairs of eyes looked to Tucker, who shrugged in response. “He’s your best friend dude.”

Tucker shrugged again. “Talking with his girlfriend, apparently.”

“Wait, Church has a girlfriend? When the fuck did this happen?” Simmons asked as he started up the Halo game.

“The fuck would I know? I just saw him FaceTiming with a chick in his room.” Tucker said. “If anything, it’s a long distance relationship.”

“Well, that makes a lot of sense. Who would ever want to introduce us dumb fucks to their girlfriend.” Grif muttered, sharing a brief glance with Simmons. The game started, a few seconds passed, and then Grif swore; they were going to have uneven teams without Church on the Blue Team.

“No shit Grif. That’s why I haven’t brought a girl back to my place yet.” Tucker muttered, sucking in a deep breath as someone from Red Team started shooting at him. He started button clicking erratically, but all was in vain as he died. Setting his controller down until his next respawn in 25 seconds, Tucker huffed out a few swear words, muttering. “Now I remember why I hate playing Halo with you guys.”

“Wait a second, I thought you never brought a girl back was because you never got one.” Simmons asked, giving Tucker a confused look.

“Well, I could always get a hold of Kaikaina again . . .”

“You shut the fuck up, man! You stay away from my Sis!” Grif threatened, his voice growing dangerously angry. He turned around and pointed his controller at Tucker’s direction.

“It was a joke!” Tucker muttered as he shoved one of the sofa’s pillows in Simmons’ face. That proved to be enough of a distraction for the Reds, as it caught Grif’s attention and brought it off of his younger, troublesome sister. Tucker then spawned back in the game, hoping to take the advantage. “Let’s just focus on the damn game.”

And so they did. They continued to play Halo 3 for at least another hour. When they grew bored of capture the flag, Grif started up a small game of Slayer. Only one round passed until Donut and Caboose grew bored and quit the game.  It was then that Grif and Simmons finally caved in to the others demands and started up Left 4 dead. Since only four of them could play at a time, Tucker decided to opt out for the level.

So as his four friends started to head towards Mercy Hospital, trying their best to avoid the hordes of zombies and special infected, Tucker kicked back and ate some of the old, staling popcorn. He remembered that there was still an unopened bottle, and he quickly claimed it as his own. As he absentminded chewed on the popcorn and swallowed the beer, Tucker could hear the frustrated groans from Caboose and the complaints at the others. He chuckled, knowing that his decision to opt out of the game had been a smart move.

After watching for a few minutes, he grew bored and eventually pulled out his phone.  Wash had texted him hours ago and Tucker soon fell back into his conversation.  Wash, who was still injured and thus wasn’t able to do much where he was stationed, responded right back.

_Thanksgiving is right around the corner. You have any plans with your family?—Tucker. 6:49_

_No.—Wash, 6:50_

His response was short, unlike the others that he had sent. Something felt wrong about it. Tucker didn’t know whether he should press the issue or to let it go. In the end, his curiosity got the better of him.

_Is there a reason? Fight with your parents?—Tucker, 6:50_

_No, nothing like that.—Wash, 6:51_

Tucker waited for a further explanation, but didn’t receive one. Tucker frowned and sent another message, asking for the other man to enlighten.

_Then what is it?—Tucker, 6:52_

The response was quick. And angry. But Tucker didn’t know if the anger was directed towards him or another.

_We’re not allowed to leave base without our Director’s approval. And they rarely give us permission throughout the year. This will be my fourth Thanksgiving away from home. I can’t remember the last time I saw my mom and dad. Except, you know, through a computer screen.—Wash, 6:52_

_Four fucking years? Away from your parents?—Tucker, 6:53_

There was no response from Wash. Tucker realized that he had been treading on a touchy subject and had pushed too many buttons without realizing it. He set his phone down the table, feeling guilty for upsetting his newfound friend.

Fortunately, at least to Tucker’s conscious, his phone buzzed a few minutes later. Picked it up, ignoring the look Simmons gave him before he turned back to the game, only to find that a Boomer had snuck up on him.

_Sorry about that. Sometimes I get . . . frustrated.—Wash, 6:57_

_That’s fine. I’ll try not to talk about holidays around you again.—Tucker, 6:57_

_You don’t have to do that. What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Going home to your family?—Wash, 6:58_

_Yeah, I’m catching a train next Tuesday for Texas. My mom lives in Austin.—Tucker, 6:59_

_I always wanted to go to Texas.—Wash, 7:01_

And after that, it was like Wash had never blown up. He didn’t seem like the kind to either. Tucker still felt guilty for doing it at the man, despite how Wash had tried to make it seem like it wasn’t his fault. After a while though, it felt like it didn’t even happen and Tucker forced himself to forget it.

Soon, the other four men had completed that chapter of the game. Donut was the next one to wait out his turn and turned around to give Tucker his controller. Except when he turned to face Tucker, he noticed that the other man was completely focused on his phone and not on the game. A smile was sprawled on Tucker’s face, and Donut’s curiosity got ahold of his tongue faster than his common sense.

“Ooh! Who are you texting, Tucker?” Donut enthusiastically asked.

The others’ attentions soon followed after Donut’s outburst. Simmons paused the game for them, and the apartment was surrounded with unwanted silence. Tucker could feel his cheeks grow warm despite the lack of them needing too. That is, until he realized that he was feeling embarrassed. Tucker quickly shoved his phone into his hoodie’s pocket and crossed his arms.

“No one in particular. My mom.” Tucker lied.

“I’m calling bullshit.” Grif said before chugging the rest of the beer. He looked the most disinterested in the whole group, and he turned his attention on the food in front of him after speaking his mind.

“Why the fuck do you guys care?” Tucker asked, feeling himself get defensive. However that only seemed to entice the other three even more.

“Why the fuck are you so cautious about it?” Simmons asked, frowning. And then recognition passed through his face, and then his frown turning into suspicion.” Wait . . . you’re talking to that guy that texted you last week, aren’t you?” When Tucker didn’t give him an answer, Simmons scoffed. “You are, aren’t you?!”

“Wait? Who is Tucker texting?” Caboose asked, lost and confused.

“Some dude that accidentally texted him a threat last Friday.” Grif muttered before belching out the remains of his beer. He stood up and made his way to the restroom again, but paused before closing the door. “And it looks like they’ve been ‘buddy buddy’ with each other since then.”

“A threatening message? That sounds—”

“Don’t you dare say another word, Donut. If you want us to continue being friends, then don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence.” Tucker warned. Donut let out a disappointed huff of air before turning around and crossing his arms in disgust. But Caboose and Simmons weren’t discouraged yet. “And besides, I didn’t say I  _was_  texting him.”

“But you didn’t say you  _weren’t_.” Simmons pointed out.

At that point, Tucker gave up and threw up his hands in defeat.  He felt himself snap.

“Ugh, yes! Fine, I’m texting the dude!”

“I fucking knew it.” Simmons muttered.

“Just shut the fuck up.”

Simmons finally relented, putting his hands up in a gesture of peace, and returned to the game. Donut’s controller sat unattended to on the table and Tucker hesitantly picked it up. The air around them was tense, but Tucker could care less. They were the one that had pushed him, so he had the right to be snappy. Even as the game started, with Grif’s player set to Idle, Tucker found himself pressing the controller’s buttons with a bit too much force.

Grif returned soon after, and he rejoined the game. Together, they worked their way closer to the end of the level, but they weren’t playing well as a team. Tucker was rushing ahead of the others, and that did not bode well for him when he accidentally stumbled into a Witch. As the Witch tore Francis to pieces, killing him, Tucker rage quitted and slammed the Xbox controller onto the couch and stood up.

“Alright, I’m fucking done for the night.” Tucker said through slightly clenched teeth. He made his way towards the front door without picking up the empty beer bottles. “Caboose, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you when you’re ready to come back.”

“Thanks Tucker!” Caboose shouted at his friend’s retreating figure. He was oblivious to Tucker’s potent anger, and smiled at him before he slammed the door.

Tucker spent a few minutes just standing in the middle of the small, empty hallway. He didn’t know why he got so angry at the others. It wasn’t like he’d never gotten angry at the others before. Hell, probably the only reason why the six of them got along so well was because they were all prone to anger, and they all knew how to push each other’s buttons.

All that he knew was that he had to get away from the others until he had enough time to cool down. Tucker let out a deep sigh, clenched and unclenched his fists, and then took the few steps towards his door.

However, before he could open the blue colored door. Another door opened up. Tucker half expected that one of his friends was coming out to apologize. And then he remembered that they were dumb fucks that gave a rat’s ass about feelings. Maybe Donut did, but Tucker had managed to piss him off and was likely not to receive apologies from the man anytime soon. However, Tucker was surprised when he saw that it was the purple door that swung open.

Mr. DuFresne, an older tenant whose wardrobe seemed to only consist of sweater vests and khaki pants, stepped out of the door, holding a large, black plastic trash bag in one hand. The doc looked surprised to see one of his neighbors there, and he quickly noticed the tension in Tucker’s posture and face. When they made eye contact, Tucker let out a sigh and released some of his pent up anger.

“Hello, Lavernius.” Doc greeted. His hold on his trash bag tightened, and the smell was beginning to permeate through the air. Tucker thought that the older man would leave to throw the trash down in the dumpster outside the building, but he remained in place. “Is there, ah, is there something wrong?”

“Just a little angry. That’s all Doc.” Tucker said through a tired sigh.

Doc looked a little upset at his nickname, considering that he was only a nurse in training. And Tucker  _knew_ that. But he let it go and smiled anyways.

“Would you like to share? I’d be happy to help you with anything. But only if you ask.” Doc continued before heading towards the stairwell. “It’s not good to let negative emotions bottle up inside you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Doc. But really, I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Doc said before entering the stairwell, sounding like he wasn’t convinced.

Tucker stood alone in the hall again. He could hear Doc’s footsteps as he travelled down the stairs. He frowned and he smacked his hand against the wall next to his blue colored door, unclenching the fist at the right time so it made contact with his palm. It still stung, but at least he didn’t fracture any of the bones in his hands like Church did that one time.

Damn, he had thought that he wanted to be alone to cool down, but Doc had a point. He shouldn’t let his anger fester like this. Hell, why was he so angry anyways? Was it because his friends were assholes (which they definitely were), or because they were picking on him because of Wash? Tucker didn’t know which one it was, or if it was some kind of combination of the two. Somehow, that still didn’t sit well with him.

He settled on the combination of the two, just because he shouldn’t give the guys this much credit for getting him this pissed off. Tucker turned away from his front door and towards the stairwell. He finally remembered that he had laundry to take care of, and he wouldn’t want to piss off Lopez the custodian about his long forgotten socks and underwear. As he made his way down the stairs, Tucker pulled out his phone; the weight of the object in his hands gave him a calming wave of relief.

And while Tucker did his laundry, he would have a friend to talk to. One that wouldn’t drive him completely crazy. 


	4. Chapter 4

Three weeks passed by slowly for Washington as his left arm healed. As the doctor ordered, the man hadn’t been able to participate in any of the arduous drills his life had consisted of for the past three years. Initially, his medical leave been two weeks. However, after some alcohol smuggled in by Wyoming, some peer pressure from a certain drunk Freelancer (York), and coupled with some bad mistakes on his part, he had torn open a few of his stitches.

And with the disgruntled Project doctor having to show up to work at two in the morning, another week had been added on as punishment. Only a few days had passed after the incident before Wash began to feel the full effects of said punishment.

In the first few days, Washington had enjoyed the ability to sleep in while his squad mates were forced to do their morning runs at the brink of day. York and South never failed to clearly express their envy of Wash’s free mornings during their meals. At first, Wash had jokingly rubbed the fact in. But after the sixth day, Wash’s body, accustomed to the day long exercising routine the Project considered mandatory, grew restless as he went through withdrawals.

Soon Wash was waking up earlier than even Maine was used to. He would sit there on top of his bed’s blankets for a few minutes, legs resting on the chilled concrete floor. It was eerie to listen to the dead silence of the base, as Wash was used to at least some form of sound: the furnace futilely attempting to warm the whole place up, a passing security guard’s footsteps as he walked by their door, or even Maine’s obnoxious snoring. He wouldn’t know how much time had passed before the silence got to him, but it would eventually, and then Wash would begin his day.

He would carefully stand up out of his bed, hoping not to wake the others, and then wander around the small room. As he did so, Wash would roll his shoulders, testing his injured arm to see if there were any kinks with it. Once he was satisfied, Wash would leave the room. With only putting on a pair of his favorite pajama pants, one of the only things from home that he had been allowed to take with him, Wash left and began to wander around the Project’s base.

And this became his new routine.

Even when the last day of Wash’s “bed rest” ended, he didn’t decide to stray from it. As if on cue, Wash’s body woke up, bringing him out of his restless dreams. He did not move from where he lay, feeling the heaviness of his eyelids and the last remnants of a long, warm slumber. It was only with a groan that Wash decided to pick himself up and start his day.

He listened to the silence of the room. He stood up and tried out his left shoulder. And then he put on his pajama pants. He’d come back to the room when it grew closer to 5:30 and change into his ACU.

Without even glancing behind him to look at his friends, Wash closed the door to their shared bunk room. He was greeted by the bright fluorescent lights hanging above him in the corridor. Management always kept these on during the night time, and for the past twenty days they had always managed to blind the poor man. Wash squinted his eyes as he slowly made his way down the hallway, taking slow and easy steps.

Wash was about halfway towards the cafeteria that he checked his pants pockets for his phone. Gently nudging his right side, Wash felt the sold rectangle hit against his knuckles. He pulled it out, and was unsurprised to find that it was only 4:20.

Wash didn’t pocket his phone after checking the time. Instead he opened up his messaging app.

_I don’t suppose you’re awake at this hour?—Wash, 4:21_

He didn’t receive a reply from his newfound friend, which he was used to at this point.Tucker had learned early on in their texting relationship that Wash was on a completely different sleeping cycle than him. If Wash was lucky, he’d receive his response just around breakfa—

_Actually, yeah. I am.—Tucker 4:23_

That threw Wash off for a brief second, and he frowned as he stared at his phone’s screen. He hadn’t actually expected Tucker to respond. Wash quickly typed another message to his friend.

_Well that’s not normal. Why are you up this early?—Wash, 4:23_

_I can ask you the same thing, Wash. But knowing you, you couldn’t stay asleep.—Tucker, 4:25_

_Guilty as charged. What’s up?—Wash, 4:25_

_It’s finals week for my roommate. I offered to help him study for a class he’s failing in. And after that, I offered to help drink him under the table when we both gave up.—Tucker, 4:26_

_You’ve been drinking all night? You don’t sound drunk. You know, if a text could sound drunk.—Wash, 4:26_

_That’s because I’m NOT drunk. Only had a couple of beers before our other roommate decided to join us for the fun. But he can’t hold his liquor for jack shit. I’m making sure he doesn’t fucking die in his sleep.—Tucker, 4:27_

_That’s . . . nice of you.—Wash, 4:27_

_Well I don’t feel like being nice right now. I’m bored out of my god damn mind.—Tucker, 4:38_

_Please tell me that something interesting is happening on your side—Tucker, 4:28_

Wash looked up from where he had been walking. Here he was, at the cafeteria’s main doors. They were locked for the night, and they wouldn’t open up until six this morning. Wash peeked through the small window in the door and saw nothing but a pair of glowing green exit signs from the other side of the large room.

_Nothing at all. The base is dead asleep right now. As it probably should be.—Wash, 4:30_

_Speaking of sleeping, you should probably try to get some more.—Tucker, 4:31_

_Is that some concern Tucker? I’m touched.—Wash, 4:31_

That last text was a bit more sarcastic than he had hoped for. Wash let out a sigh before pocketing his phone and turning around. He wouldn’t head for his room again; there was no way Wash’s jittery body was going to let him get one last hour of sleep. No, the best thing for him was to walk off all this energy before he’d have to start his morning drills.

And so Wash found himself heading towards the direction of the Training Room. His feet were dragging for no particular reason, save for the fact that the sound of his shoes on the floor acted as a distraction for his mind. Wash walked at a snail’s pace, and he only seemed to get slower the closer he got to his destination. By the time that he rounded the corner to the Training Room, Wash was sure that the bottoms of his shoes had been worn out more so than before.

There was a buzz in his pocket, and Wash pulled out his phone.

_Well considering that I AM concerned, yeah you fucking should be.—Tucker, 4:39_

_You got fucking stabbed, and now you’re not getting a lot of sleep. I’m no doctor, but that’s not healthy, dude.—Tucker, 4:39_

_It’s so nice to know that you’re interested in my health, Tucker. What a good friend you are.—Wash, 4:40_

_Hell fucking yeah I am.—Tucker, 4:41_

It was at that point that Wash opened the door to the Training Room. He had assumed that no one would be up at this time in the morning. However, as Wash opened the door, he was met with the telltale sign of someone beating the crap out of a punching bag, complete with the grunts and sharp intakes of breath.

It was Carolina, already in her workout clothes. She was wearing a pair of running shorts, a gray Project Freelancer tank top, her red hair in a tight ponytail, and a pair of boxing gloves. And the older soldier was completely focused on the task at hand. Her stance was offensive, and every few seconds she would let out a string of punches onto the poor bag. Judging by the amount of sweat that soaked her skin and clothes, Carolina had been at it for quite some time.

As Wash watched his squad’s leader, Carolina remained oblivious to her newfound audience. It was only when he started moving closer did Carolina register Wash’s existence. She slowed her pace down enough to glance over to Wash and nod in his direction. But as soon as she did that, she was back at it. Carolina gave the bag a few more punches before taking a few steps back and sucking in a deep breath of fresh air.

“What are you doing up so early, Wash?” Carolina asked with a small frown, sounding concerned for her squad mate. She took off her boxing gloves and tossed them over to the side wall. Knowing her, she wouldn’t leave them there for long before the perfectionist part of her would place them where they belonged. “The morning run isn’t for another 45 minutes.”

“Couldn’t sleep, Boss.” Wash said plainly. He motioned to his left shoulder before continuing. “I haven’t been able to since the wound. What about you?”

She gave him a puzzled look before shaking her head. Carolina then turned around and headed towards the woman’s locker room while she played with the end of her ponytail. “I’m always up this early, Wash. I get more done in the morning.”

“Ah.”

Carolina paused as she stood at the doorway to the locker room. She turned her head and stared at Wash expectantly. Wash, who was dumbfounded by this, only tilted his head in confusion for a response. With a sigh, Carolina opened the door to the women’s locker room with one hand and motioned for Wash to follow her.

“Come on in. I’m the only one here so you don’t have to worry about pissing off South. And . . . you’ve already seen everything I have to offer.”

“Wh-what?!”

“That’s a joke, Wash.” Carolina teased, a smug look on her face despite the early hour. “We’ve been working together for 3 years now. I think you can handle talking to your squad’s leader while she changes.”

Knowing that he was verbally defeated, Wash let out a sigh. He muttered something about York going to kill him under his breath before following Carolina into the locker room. Carolina led him to her designated locker and as she opened it he leaned against the ones next to it. As she began to change out of her sweaty tank top, Wash averted his eyes, finding the dirty gray floor to be particularly interesting in the fluorescent lighting.

“Anything you wanted to talk about, Boss?” Wash asked after a few long, seemingly unbearable moments of silence. “Considering you invited me in here, you had something in mind?”

“Yeah. How’s your arm?”

“It’s good. A bit stiff, but a few days of normal sparring in practice and therapy sessions with the Doc and I think it ought to be back to normal.”

“That’s good to hear. I heard about your talk with the Councilor yesterday.”

“Oh. You did . . .”

Of course she heard about it. There was nothing that happened that Carolina didn’t know eventually. Since Wash was part of her squad, yesterday’s session with the Councilor was bound to reach Carolina’s ears. Wash slumped against the lockers and let out a defeated, tired sigh. Carolina glanced at him, pausing as she put on her shirt. For a few seconds, he refused to look at her.

“He asked me if I wanted to opt out. Leave the Project and return to my old regiment back in the army.” Wash confessed, his voice was barely above a whisper. Carolina opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off before she could. He didn’t want to know what she had to say just yet. “Of _course_ I refused. But if the Councilor thinks that I’m not advancing fast enough, it might be out of my hands at this point.”

There was a small pause as Carolina registered Wash’s words.

“They _asked you_ if you wanted to _leave_?” Carolina asked, a puzzled look taking place of her frown.

Carolina quickly finished getting dressed and slammed her locker’s door. She stared at Wash in the eye, her green eyes seemed to pierce his very soul as she did so, and she crossed her arms. There was practically no height difference between the two, but right now Wash felt smaller than his squad leader.

“Wash, they weeded out soldiers who weren’t Project material three years ago! Back before we were even assigned our state names.” Carolina told him, sounding slightly exasperated. “If the Director didn’t think you could rise to his expectations, you wouldn’t be here now, let alone in Squad Alpha.”

Squad Alpha was the pride and joy of Project Freelancer. It compromised of the best soldiers America’s armed forces had to offer and they were arguably best within the Project. They had been trained to succeed with every war scenario imaginable and then some. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Project was a highly controversial and notorious independent military project, it would have much more recognition for the advances it has made.

To be a part of Squad Alpha, and thus Project Freelancer, had been both a blessing and a curse for Washington.

“If anything, that was a scare tactic the Councilor used to get you riled up.” Carolina continued, placing a reassuring hand on Wash’s uninjured shoulder. She patted it and smiled softly; here she was acting like the big sister she always did around her younger squad members. “You belong here, Washington. If you don’t think so, then it’s my job to show you how wrong you are.”

Wash smiled with her, almost all worries disappearing with her confident words. But he still had a question that needed asking. “Do you think I made the right choice?”

“You know I can’t decide that for you.”

At that, Wash gave his squad leader a hard stare. She shrugged her shoulders with another smile and started making her way back towards the door. Wash hadn’t noticed it, but she had finished changing and was even in her ACU. Carolina was already set for the morning drills, and Wash was still in his pajamas, looking like he just got out of bed. Which he had.

“Come on; let’s get you changed so we can start drills early.” Carolina offered. She opened the door and let Wash walk through it. “Let’s burn off some of that unneeded energy before breakfast.”

“Well I can’t argue with that. I just have to run by the medical bay and have the Doctor look at my arm before we can start.”

“I’m sure we can do that.”

And so the two left the women’s locker room together side by side. Wash felt better than he had over the past three weeks whenever he wasn’t texing Tucker. It was amazing how good Carolina was with words when she needed to be. Wash even felt excited for the morning run.

However, they had made it only a few steps before the Training Room’s far doors burst open, surprising both of them. Wash watched in confusion as several men in brown coveralls swarmed the place, moving massive cargo crates around with hand trucks. They barely spoke as they started placing the first few crates down on the cold floor.

He eyed the crates. They towered over the men by a couple feet and, judging by the amount of effort they put into moving it, they were heavy.  But the most unnerving part of the process was the red letters stamped onto each of the crates: _PROPERTY OF UNSC._ Last time Wash checked, the Project was not part of the UNSC.

Wash stood and stared for a few seconds before he felt Carolina nudging him with her elbow.

“Come on, Wash. We should probably leave.” Carolina muttered, her voice had grown serious since their talk only a few moments ago.

“Do you know what they’re doing, Boss?” Wash asked, his eyes still trained on the men as placed a fifth crate into the Training Room.

“No.”

Her response was short and quick. Even Wash could tell that it was a lie, but he didn’t press further as they left the room. Wash didn’t dare question his squad leader as he followed her out the door and towards the sleeping quarters. He remained silent for the remainder of the morning. But that didn’t mean his mind wouldn’t be occupied by the thoughts of that sight for the entire morning run. 

* * *

 "Finally have some proof that you're a man, huh Wash?" 

York had his eyes on his friend as he took another large bite of his ham sandwich. He smirked as he took a look at the still pink, jagged scar that travelled from Washington's shoulder down to the lower part of his left bicep. The wound was finally stitch free; it had passed the Doc's inspection, and Wash was finally clear to return to his daily duties as a Freelancer in training. Now on his first day back with his squad, they were enjoying the short time allotted for lunch together. 

Even Tex was back, having finally recovered from the Flu days ago. She still looked too pale and week to be considered healthy. Wash had gotten a quick look at her during their early morning run, and saw that her skin had been a shade too pale, and the bags under her eyes were an indication that she should have rested for another day or two. But she was determined to get back into the program, and that was why she was leaning against the table as she ate, using her partner Maine as additional support. 

The big guy didn't seem to mind his partner's precarious state. Or notice. Maine was too busy biting through his own sandwich with the viciousness that reminded Wash of a starving wolf.

But York's comment caught the others' attention to his healed wound. Connie's face and ears flushed with both embarrassment and guilt before the woman quickly turned to face the other side of the cafeteria. Wash frowned, not liking the fact that she still felt guilty about the accident. However, the twins perked up to inspect the scar from their respective seats, pausing their lunch. Their gazes made Wash very self-conscious. 

Before Wash could pull his T-shirt over the healed wound in an embarrassed manner, York continued. "That's gonna look nice in a couple months. Chicks dig big scars."

At that Carolina shoved York, and the man almost fell out of the metal cafeteria table. Unfortunately, sandwich fell from his hands and onto the cafeteria's dirty cement floor. York moaned at the loss of his food before giving Carolina a questioning look. Carolina just shrugged and then went back to her red apple. Wash caught her gaze, and the redheaded woman smiled softly and nodded. At least she still had his back. And it felt good to know that their conversation during the morning had brought them a little closer together.

"Then tell me why I'm still wasting my time with you, then?" Carolina said, poking York in the chest before taking another bite of her apple.

"Hey, chicks also dig guys with a sense of humor, right?" York said with a sly smile, putting his right arm around Carolina's shoulders."

"If that's the case . . ." Carolina said as she returned an identical sly smirk to her boyfriend. She carefully lifted York's arm off of her and dropped it to his side. Carolina then turned her attention to Maine, resting a hand on his wrist before giving it a friendly squeeze. ". . . then Maine should have all of us 'chicks' at his side within seconds."

At that, Maine snorted. He started coughing up his sandwich before beginning to laugh his booming laugh. Maine patted Carolina's back in a friendly gesture. 

"Funny." Maine muttered in a low, guttural tone before finally returning to his food.

"You think so? Thanks Maine." Carolina said with a knowing smile. The redhead spotted her boyfriend pouting and let out a sigh through her nose, smiling. "Now will you knock it off? Wash's got a hard time as it is missing three weeks of drills."

"Ugh. Don't remind me." Wash said as she slammed his bowl of soup down a little too hard. A little bit of the New England clam chowder spilled and fell onto his hand. Fortunately, it cooled down enough that it didn't burn Wash's skin. Wash licked the soup off of the back of his hand before he continued. He looked over towards Carolina, and they shared each other’s knowing gaze for a brief second. He broke it with a sigh; knowing that he should tell the others of his predicament. "The Councilor already sat me down to talk about if I was 'able and willing' to continue my work with the Project."

His words were met with silence as his squad mates registered what he said. All manner of joking and joviality disappeared from York. Maine frowned as he slowed in his chewing before he sat down the small remains of the sandwich. Connie flinched and she slunk back further into her chair, hiding her face behind her hair. The rest all turned to stare at Wash, mouth almost agape.

"Wait, what was that?" North spoke for the first time since they sat down. "Did the Councilor really threatening to kick you out of the Project?"

Wash nodded in response. It was followed for a brief stretch of silence, and then Wash heard York swear.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." It was surprising to see how quick York could go from the almost carefree center of their circle of friends to the big brother that Wash rarely saw. Wash looked up to see the other man. “Was he really serious?”

Wash shrugged, knowing that he already gotten his pep talk earlier. “I don’t think so. In the end the Councilor just told me to be more careful next time during training . . . but I should probably watch my back for a while. Just in case they were actually serious.”

“Well shit.” South said, looking astonished. She turned her head to look at Tex, who still looked like she was slowly dying from her illness. “Did they do the same to you too?”

Tex shook her head before taking another bite of her food. “Not at all. I just got a memo from the Councilor and the Director wishing me to get better soon.”

“Well look who’s getting special treatment. . .” South muttered under her breath.

Tex heard the other woman but did nothing short of giving her a steely glare. Instead, it was Carolina that acted with a viciousness that surprised everyone, including herself.

“Cut it out, South.” She snapped. “ _No one_ is getting special treatment from the Director. Not even Texas.”

For a long second, there was nothing but silence between Squad Alpha as the soldiers stared between a taken back Tex and a glowering Carolina. However, as soon as Carolina realized that there were eyes on her, she seemed to snap out of it and moved to sit up straight and erect, acting as if nothing had happened. It was York that had the nerve to break the awkward silence.

“Besides, if they were to give us special treatment, there would be a lot more shore leave given out.” York contributed, trying to bring his girlfriend back out of her sudden mood. “We could all use some time away from this damned place. I don’t care if we have this one coming up today, I’d still like more.”

With those words, York was met with the nodding and mutterings of seven heads around the table. The Project had been running them dog-tired for a while now, and it was time to unwind with a free weekend to do as they pleased. Wash had no plans, but that just meant he had a whole weekend to do things as freely as he wanted, let it be watching a movie at the cinemas with Connie and Maine or heading towards an open bar with the rest of his squad.

Wash was just hoping that his unplanned sick leave wouldn’t hinder this weekend’s short leave.  

However, he didn’t have time to worry as the overhead speaker above the cafeteria turned on. It squeaked loudly once in protest, and the whole cafeteria seemed to quiet down to listen for whatever someone important had to say. Wash abandoned his soup and looked up at the ceiling with the rest of his squad. They rarely used that old thing, only when the Director himself wanted to speak to his recruits.

“Squad Alpha, please head to the Training Room 1A as soon as possible.” Phyllis, the Director’s personal secretary, spoke through the overhead speaker.  The woman paused before giving out more instructions, allowing for Carolina’s squad to look at each other in confusion. “Squads Bravo and Charlie are to complete their scheduled drills in Training Room 1B. All other squads are to perform their duties as scheduled.”

The overhead speaker cut off and North was the first to speak. “That’s weird. We were supposed to practice with firearms for the rest of the day.”

“Looks like there’s been a change in plans.” Carolina said with a small frown. She stood up from her seat and carried her cleared tray over to the back of the cafeteria. The others followed suit and picked up their mess. “Come on, it’s got to be important if they want us there.”

Once they finished clearing up the remains of their lunch, Carolina led them to the Training Room. It was the same one she and Wash had been in earlier this morning, and the thought of those crates brought back the young man’s curiosity. It didn’t take a genius for him to figure out that they would play some part with the squad’s suddenly announced meeting. But how, he couldn’t figure out.

When they arrived, Wash and the others were met with the sight of not only the Councilor, but the Director as well. This threw Wash through a loop, and he paused in his steps, making Maine walk into him. It was rare that the Director got directly involved in their training sessions, having once declared that he would only get involved when the soldiers had risen to his expectations. Since then, he became a ghost that would observe the group up in the Observation room above the Training Room at random times, watching them from afar and taking a few notes.

If he was here with them now, something important must have been happening.

It only took Wash a few seconds to regain his composure. Maine nudged him forward as encouragement and he fell into line next the other Freelancers, with Connie on his right and North on his left. Once Carolina took her place in front of them, Wash simultaneously saluted the Director, making sure his face was as motionless and impassive as a statue’s.

“At ease, soldiers.” The Director ordered, his heavily accented voice shattering the silence of the Training Room.

Wash dropped his salute, but did not rest from his erect position. He did not dare take his eyes off of the back wall either, just behind the Director’s body. Wash’s breathing felt stiff and labored, even to himself. But he wasn’t the only one that felt the pressure of the Director’s gaze and how it seemed to leave a tax on his mind and body. The rest of Carolina’s squad lined up in front of the older man, and they all felt the intense scrutiny he was giving them.

The Director was a hard man to please; even his top recruits didn’t seem to be enough for him. And the man made this clear in every word, twitch of an eyebrow, and unbending scowl he gave to the soldiers under his charge.

The Director allowed the silence to grow as he eyed Wash and the others. His ever present glasses were tinted like sunglasses, but that only seemed to make the man’s stares more ominous. Wash dared to look at Carolina standing in front of the line of the soldiers; she would have to face the Director’s hard stares alone. As the leader of their squad, it had been Carolina’s job to make sure they were all fit for duty. If they did not pass inspection, the blame would ultimately fall onto her.

And so the eight soldiers waited. What they were waiting for, they did not yet know.

After what felt like hours to Wash, the Director turned his attention to his right hand man, the Councilor. The ever calm, ever eerie, Councilor didn’t even flinch when the imposing man inclined his head at him.

“Councilor, the reports.” The Director said, holding his hand out in expectation.

With only a single twitch of the Director’s index and middle finger, the Councilor did as ordered and handed the man one large manila folder, stamped _CLASSIFIED_ in red ink. The Director opened the file and quickly read over the reports. Wash was able to get a good look at one of the papers the Director tossed over, and he wasn’t surprised to see a black and white photo of York stapled on to it. A long second passed as the Director paused on one file in particular.

“Are these correct, Councilor?”

“I have compiled these reports for several months, Director. Every observation I’ve made is in there.” The Councilor said, nodding his head. The man’s eyes quickly glanced away from the Director’s back and towards the Freelancers. “My reports are accurate.”

With those words, the Director looked up and stared straight at Wash. A small, agitated flush founds its way in Wash’s cheeks and he fought off the urge to avoid the Director’s gaze. The knife incident was in there, Wash knew it. Everyone knew it. But that didn’t make Wash’s humiliation disappear. Fortunately, the Director’s gaze soon dropped to Carolina, and he shoved the report back to the Councilor, a few loose papers falling out of the folder as he did so.

“Agent Carolina, give me your input.” The Director demanded as he took a few steps towards the line of Freelancers. As he waited, he placed his hands behind his back, a gesture that was familiar to all who played a part in the Project. It reminded Wash of a stone statue; cold and unforgiving.

Carolina straightened up, even more so than before, and nodded her head stiffly. When she spoke, it was with the voice of a leader, not of a friend and teammate.

“It’s been a long, three years Director. I couldn’t be prouder of my squad mates and what we’ve accomplished together.” Carolina spoke, her chin held up proudly as if she didn’t want to risk a smile in front of the cold man. “I don’t believe that we’re the best squad in the Project; saying that I believe means I don’t have proof. I  _know_  we’re the best squad, and all the proof you need is in that file.”

“Do you  _believe_  that your squad is ready for Phase Two?” The Director asked, his tone indifferent to Carolina’s small speech.

Carolina nodded once again, this time her words were smaller. “Yes.”

The Director was quiet, and then the whole room followed suit. The dark haired man was thinking, that Wash was sure of. The Director frowned slightly, and Wash began to worry. It was rare that he ever saw the man in charge of the Project, but he knew enough that a frown was bad. A frown meant that they did something wrong, that they ended up short of his expectations, or that the Director had changed his mind.

Fortunately, the frown disappeared a few seconds after it appeared. The Director let out small huff and then turned around and started making his way back to the Councilor. The Councilor barely moved, only his eyes following his boss.

“Begin Phase Two of the Project immediately, Councilor.” The Director told the man as he started making his way towards the exit.  The Councilor nodded his head at the retreating figure, a full conversation passing between the two without words or glances. Just before he opened the door, the Director turned and looked at the line of Freelancers again. “You are dismissed.”

It was only when the Director was gone that Wash felt like he could breathe again. And considering the chorus of sighs that followed his, he wasn’t the only one. He felt a nudge to his side, and Wash looked up to see North smiling down at him pleasantly. He had sensed Wash’s unease, and that small gesture was enough to comfort Wash.

But Wash still had questions. And it seems York had the same ones.

“Phase Two? What the hell is Phase Two, Carolina?” York asked, not only gaining the attention of his lover, but that of the whole squad and the Councilor as well. “We were never told there was a phase two for the Project.”

“There are three Phases to the Project, Agent York.” The Councilor answered before Carolina could even open her mouth. All eight heads turned to the Councilor. “Only Agent Carolina was given this information, due to the fact that she is your commanding officer. Phase Two compensates preparation for Phase Three.”

“I thought we were already prepared.” South muttered angrily, crossing her arms in an attempt to look both aloof and irritated at the same time.

“Preparation for the battlefield, yes. At some point, you will all be expected to use your skills in war. But if you remember, that is not all that Project Freelancer has planned.” The Councilor said with a tired sigh. He absentmindedly corrected the mess in the classified manila folder as he continued. “Phase Two is meant for more drastic changes that will happen at the end of the Project. It is important to condition your body . . . for space settlement.”

So they _were_ planning to use Freelancers for early planet colonization. Wash thought that that was just something the Director had stated in press conferences to get support from more radical sources. Even the UNSC wasn’t planning any colonization yet in the space that had already been explored. Too dangerous, they said, too many variables that could cause harm to the colonists.

But that didn’t seem to faze the Director.

“Oh my god. He  _is_  going through with it.” Connie said beside Wash, her voice full of both awe and disbelief. Fortunately, she had been soft spoken at the time, and only Wash and Maine had heard her.

“So what now? We go up in the Vomit Comet and get used to reduced gravity?” Tex asked loudly, covering up Connie’s own words. She earned a response from South, who muttered something about motion sickness under her breath. Tex rolled her eyes and continued, her voice rising in volume. “Is this Phase going to take three fucking years to finish too?”

“Hopefully not, Agent Texas.” The Councilor said, his voice growing tired again. “As I mentioned, Phase Two consists of conditioning your body for space exploration. However, the Vomit Comet will not play any part of Project Freelancer’s plans. Instead of growing accustomed to reduced gravity, we plan to counteract it.”

At that, the Councilor walked over to the back of the Training Room. With a wave of a hand, he ordered the squad of Freelancers to follow him. The crates that Wash had noticed earlier were still there, but now there were Project  security officers working to open one. One man had managed to work a crowbar inside the wooden crate, but did not have the brute force to pry it open. The Councilor let out an almost inaudible sigh.

“Agent Texas, will you help them?” The Councilor asked.

Without saying a word, Tex made her way towards the men. She shoved the man aside roughly and grabbed ahold of the jammed crowbar. Tex gave the object one hard shove, and the top of the crate popped off like the lid of a Pringles can. Tex kicked the top off and it clattered against the cement floor. Judging by the bemused look on Tex’s face, she was surprised with the crate’s contents. Now Wash didn’t know what to expect if it had fazed Texas, their most levelheaded squad mate.

As soon as the crate’s top stopped waddling against the floor, the rest of the Freelancers moved closer to inspect the inside. Wash was able to get a good look at the inside, and he let out a small, quiet gasp. That was _Mjolnir_ armor, and it looked like the newest model as well.

 _Mjolnir_ armor was strictly UNSC property, and one of the most heavily guarded assets the military force had. If Freelancer had gotten hold of a couple suits, then would this mean that the UNCS supported what the Director—

Wash couldn’t think about it. He didn’t want to think about it.

The suit of armor looked imposing, even as it was lying down on its backside. The armor was color coated, unlike the few that Wash had seen on the news that were all a dull green. This armor set was mostly tan in color, save for the few white accents that were most prominent on the outer part of the forearm and the top of the large orange visor.  Wash could see the reflections of everyone’s faces on the curved orange surface. Some of them looked at the armor in awe, some in surprise, and in Connie’s case she looked concerned.

“Holy hell. We’re going to be wearing that?” York asked, breaking the silence the suit of armor caused. Wash wasn’t sure if the older man sounded enthused or nervous. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“Correct, Agent York. In this case, this is your suit of armor.”

York fell short of words when his mind registered what the Councilor said. Wash watched as his friend slowly placed a hand on his armor, feeling the metal against the palm of his hand. He traced a finger over the chest plate before finally pulling up.  Wash looked at York’s face, and was surprised to see the man still frozen in surprise.

“Are they all the same color?” North asked as he put a hand on York’s shoulder, breaking his best friend from his trance. York looked at North, a dull confused look in his eyes. North patted at him again before looking at the Councilor for answers.

“No. To make things easier for The Director and myself, and eventually you out in the field, we’ve placed several custom orders. Each set of armor will be different.” The Councilor answered. He walked towards the other crates, and now that the Freelancers knew what was in them, they finally grasped what Phase Two was going to look like. “As of Monday, Squad Alpha will be expected to perform all duties while wearing their designated Mjolnir armor.”

“What about Squad Bravo?” Wash asked, thinking of Wyoming’s squad.

“They have yet to persuade myself and the Director that they are ready for Phase Two.” The Councilor said, giving Washington a look that the Freelancer couldn’t determine whether it was impatience or reserved. “That is all I will say for the matter.”

“In the meantime,” The Councilor continued. “Help yourself to unloading the armor sets. When you have finished, you will be free to enjoy your leave.”

With the mention of the Freelancer’s leave, the tense atmosphere was broken. That was right. The Director had granted his top soldiers permission to leave the compound for a whole weekend. That in itself was a Christmas miracle. Just mentioning a whole weekend to do as they pleased brought a smile to everyone’s faces, especially Wash’s. The Councilor crept away during the chaos that broke between the Freelancers, not that it mattered to Wash in the first place.

Carolina was quick to bring the group of eight back to order. With a clap of her hands, everyone quieted down and listened to their squad leader for directions. She was standing on the top of another box, allowing even the taller Freelancer to see the woman.

“Alright, you heard the man. As soon as we get these open, the sooner we can find a bar and hunker down.” Carolina called out, her voice echoing through the training room. “Split into pairs with your partners and grab a crowbar. As soon as you open two crates, consider yourselves free to go.

That was all the encouragement the group needed. Wash soon spotted Connie and nudged her with his elbow. Connie nodded to him and bent down to pick the crowbar Tex had used. Together, the two partners walked towards the nearest crates. As they did so, Connie shoved the crowbar into Wash’s hands.

“Ladies first, Wash.” Connie said with a smirk.

“Is that meant to be an insult?” Wash asked, giving her a confused look. He then pointed at her with the edge of the crowbar, careful not to poke her with the pointed ends. She smiled at him and then swatted the crowbar away. “You do realize that most of the women on our squad can take me down within minutes, right?”

“Then take it as a compliment and get to work. Some vodka sounds pretty good right now.” Connie said, kicking a crate with her foot to make her point.

Wash let out a chuckle and tightened his grip on the crowbar. The Freelancer was quick to pry open the crate. With some help from Connie, the two removed the lid by pushing it over the side. Together, they peeked at the armor held within. It was similar to York’s armor, save for the color, just like the Councilor told them. This _Mjolnir_ set was a dark purple in color, with a vivid green for its accents. After a few seconds of staring, Connie let out a quiet hum.

“I wonder who’s going to get this armor. . .”

Wash shrugged as an answer. “I guess we’ll find out when get back on Monday. Come on, let’s open another one.’’

After that, they fell into silence and opened up a second crate. As soon as the top part of the crate was off, Wash and Connie glanced inside and looked at the armor set. It looked considerably different than their first one. This armor set was colored mainly white, with only brown on its shoulder pads, but its helmet’s visor was dome shaped instead of the standard _Mjolnir_ helmet. Wash’s curiosity got the better of him and he carefully but clumsily picked up the helmet. He hadn’t realized how heavy the armor piece would be. There, stamped by the neck was the name: _Eva._

“Do you reckon there are more helmets like this? Or all they all different?” Connie asked as she stared at the helmet in Wash’s hands.

Wash shrugged as he shook his head. “I don’t know. This is all too surreal for me to take in now.”

“Agreed. Just put it back in the box and we can head out of here.”

Wash couldn’t argue with that logic. As he put the helmet back into the crate, he could hear the conversations from the rest of the squad. They had all finished opening the armor, and without knowing where to put them, they had decided to leave it for Monday when they’d be forced to wear them.  Now the seven other soldiers were congregating around the Training Room’s main doors, all anxiously waiting to return to their designated rooms and pack normal, civilian clothes for the weekend.

But of course, there were certain rules that had to be set up for whenever they left the safety of the base.

“Same rules apply?” Tex asked out loud, gaining the attention of everyone there.

There was a few mutterings as people debated together before turning to look at the one in charge. Carolina nodded. She turned around and looked at the others, holding her chin high as she answered Tex.

“Same rules. Use your old names and if anyone asks, we’re a group of friends on a vacation together. Don’t mention the Project; don’t give anyone your real name. If you spill the beans, we all split the joint separately and then head somewhere else. If you spill, you’re buying everyone’s drinks for the rest of the night. Any other questions?”

“Yeah, where are we going?”  York asked, crossing his arms and leaning into the wall. This was a very important question, considering the fact that everyone here wanted to get drunk.

“I was planning on meeting my boyfriend at a bar called _Tasty’s_ in Chicago. You guys are more than welcome the join us since he’s planning on bringing his roommates with him.” Tex offered, holding up her phone to show the others of the text she just received from a man named _Leonard_. She pocketed her phone and then continued. “He says that they make good company, and the drinks are cheap there.”

“I like that.” Maine muttered before nodding his head in approval. He then frowned and then gave his partner a hard stare. “He knows?”

“Yeah, he knows I'm in the Project.” Tex said, and then she shrugged before continuing. “He’s known for a while, and he’s cool about keeping it a secret to his friends.”

“We’ll have to take your word on it, Tex. Anyone have any objections?” Carolina spoke up, completely trusting her squad mate, despite the small rivalry the two shared together. Carolina looked up to the others, and saw numerous heads bob in unison to show that they rather liked Tex’s idea. Sometimes it was fun hanging out with oblivious civilians rather than staying secluded with each other. “So that makes eight Freelancers heading towards this bar?” 

“Six.” North said, raising his hand to catch everyone’s attention. He looked over towards his twin sister, who looked as dumbfounded as the others, before continuing. “South and I have grandparents that live in Chicago. We promised to spend our leave with them, especially since we’re stationed only a couple hours away from them.”

“Oh yeah. Granna and Granpi wanted us over.” South said, her voice full of recollection. She smiled and then walked over to her brother, swinging one arm around his shoulders in an attempt to give him half a hug. Wash had expected her to be miserable at the loss of an opportunity to get drunk, but she seemed to like this idea even more, now that her eyes seemed to sparkle with happiness. South gave North a smirk before she let go of him. “I hope they baked their Christmas cookies for us.”

“I think they were waiting for us to help, actually.” North said lowly, so that only South could hear him.

“Okay . . . so that makes six of us?” York asked, looking slightly sad at the loss of his best friend for a Friday night of drinking.

“Five. I’ve already made plans myself.” Connie said, speaking up for the first time since the squad gathered together. Wash gave his partner a confused look, having no idea what she was talking about. If anyone knew about these plans, it would have been either him or Maine. And with a single glance at the large man’s face, he didn’t know either. “It’s just personal things I need to take care of. But you can count on me joining you all for tomorrow.”

“Five then.” Carolina nodded. “Anyone else have plans they want us to know about?”

For once, everyone held their breath. Wash looked around and saw that they were all getting more anxious by the second. He was as well. It’s been a long time since he’s left the confining walls of the Project's base, and some good booze was all he needed right now. Wash looked over to the friends that would take Tex’s offer. It seemed like it would just be him and Maine drinking with the others for the night. Which was fine by him, save for the fact that Wash would get drunk even before the big guy got buzzed.

After it was decided, Carolina let everyone go. Wash and his other roommates walked towards their room. York and North were quickly discussing what they wanted to do on Sunday, the only day that they would be able to enjoy their leave together. Wash heard something about a rock concert and then quickly shut out their conversation. And Maine was ahead of them, already too eager to leave.

Wash felt his phone in his pants pocket and thought about texting Tucker. Tucker had said that he lived in Chicago, and considering their destination was somewhere in the city, Wash wouldn’t be that far from the man. It would be nice to meet Tucker instead of just texting the man; to put a face and a voice to the name listed in his contacts.

He had already pulled out his phone to text the man when Wash hesitated.

Wash thought about it. He thought about it for a few minutes. And then he decided against it. Tucker already knew him as Washington, and not David. He could wait until Sunday night to text Tucker when he arrived back at the base, as if leave had never even happened.

 And this was David’s weekend out, not Washington’s.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a special gift seeing as how long I made some of you guys wait for the last chapter. Here's this one, plain, raw, and hot off the metaphorical press. Excuse any typos, plot holes, or grammar problems you find, as this has not been looked over yet. For the most part, this chapter will stay the same, but things might happen until I get a chance to look it over again. I'll make sure to do that ASAP, and I'll leave you guys a note when I believe this chapter is fully completed.

It was well into afternoon when Tucker’s alarm clock finally went off.

Tucker let out a small groan as he futilely attempted to roll over onto his back. His eyelids felt heavy to him and even as he lay here, he felt his small bedroom spin around him. A horrible headache soon greeted him after he woke to the Spice Girls singing, and he rubbed his head to soothe the excruciating pain.

And he wasn’t even hung over.

Tucker let out another small groan as he tried to locate his phone. He reached towards the end table beside his bed and flailed his arm around desperately, knocking over something during the search. A few seconds passed before he realized that his phone was not where he last put it. Grumpily, Tucker tilted his head up and looked at the offending piece of furniture, a dark scowl easily finding its home on his face.

The phone was nowhere to be found, and still the Spice Girls haven’t gotten their zigga-zigga-ah.

Although he desperately didn’t want to, Tucker forced himself out of bed. As he put his feet on the floor, he found his phone. Looking down, Tucker spotted the phone between his feet, screen up and big toe resting on the home button, screaming him the time. It took his mind a few minutes to grasp the fact why he had set an alarm for three in the afternoon instead of the usual ten in the morning.

And then he remembered.

He remembered Caboose and his fucking no tolerance to alcohol. He remembered helping the big guy towards the bathroom to throw up in their toilet numerous times. He remembered Church going to bed while he had to sit with Caboose on the couch and rub his back for him. He remembered spending the entire morning awake as he watched over Caboose’s sleeping form so he wouldn’t die in his fucking sleep.

Tucker remembered the worst night of his life in the past four years. If it wasn’t for Donut, his saving grace last night, who took over Tucker’s shift at 7 then Tucker wouldn’t know how much he hated Caboose right now. At his current standing, Tucker was pretty pissed off at the idiot, but he still pitied the poor man.

Tucker unceremoniously bent over and picked up his phone, turning off the alarm as he did so. Sweet silence engulfed him, and Tucker fell back onto his bed. The covers felt warm against his skin and Tucker let out small, soothed sigh of contentment as he closed his eyes again. It wouldn’t hurt anybody if he got another hour or so of sleep.

But that didn’t seem to be the case. A knocking alerted Tucker that someone wanted in to his room. There was a small pause before the knocking began again, this time louder and more impatient. Frowning again, Tucker got up from his warm bed and stomped over to the door. He swung the door open and came face to face with Church, who had been halfway through knocking a third time.

“It’s about time that you got—god _damn_  it Tucker! Put some damn pants on!” Church yelled at his best friend as his face flushed with both embarrassment and anger. Church turned away, having no intention of catching his friend’s junk a second time. He crossed his arm as he looked down the hallway and towards their small kitchen, obviously waiting. “Have you changed yet?”

“No, and I’m not going to. Can I go back to bed now?” Tucker said, closing the door enough that he was covered. Church saw the motion from the side of his eye and turned around to look at Tucker. “ _You_  didn’t have to deal with a sick Caboose, so  _I_  think I deserve a few more hours of sleep.”

“ _I_ had a final in that fucking math class, and  _you_ are _unemployed_. Ergo, it was your job to take care of the moron.” Church pointed out, frowning in frustration. “You’ve been asleep for seven hours. That’s enough for you to last for the rest of the day. Now get your god damn pants on and let’s head out of here.”

That confused Tucker, and he frowned slightly. “Wait? Where are we going?”

“Over to  _Tasty’s_. I’m meeting someone there and I’m bringing you, Simmons, and Grif with me.” Church said as he walked away from Tucker and towards his own room. Just before he entered it, he turned around and looked at Tucker, raising a single eyebrow as if to question the other man. “You  _do_  want to drink tonight, right?”

“Hell yeah I do. That’s what I wanted to do last night!”

“Then get dressed, you fucker.”

Tucker closed the door with that. He was still tired, but the prospect of having drinks with Church and the Reds had woken him up. He’d still need a cup of coffee to get himself moving, but now he didn’t need any more encouragement to get dressed. Tucker quickly pulled on the pair of jeans he wore yesterday and found a Turquoise T-shirt in the dresser that didn’t smell like body odor. He quickly put the shirt on and found his winter jacket. Not bothering to brush his wildly curly hair, Tucker left to get his shoes by the front door.

Church was already waiting for him, holding his phone while he tightened his large blue scarf around his neck. Fortunately, the impatient asshole waited long enough for Tucker to not only warm up an old mug of coffee in the microwave, but make some toast as well. While he waited for the toast to pop up, Tucker hastily pulled on his boots.

“Hey, where the fuck is Caboose?” Tucker asked, looking at Church for his answer.

“Over with Donut still.” Church muttered while he motioned towards the door with his head. He pocketed his phone after he finished typing a text and crossed his arms. “Donut thought that Caboose would be a bit more comfortable over there while he had his first really bad hangover. And he also has Doc on speed dial in case Caboose starts feeling worse. But so far, he seems to be doing just fine. He’s only thrown up once after going over there.”

“Ugh, I’ve seen enough Caboose vomit to last a lifetime.” Tucker muttered as he grabbed the mug from the microwave. He took a few sips of the liquid and enjoyed it. Tucker quickly finished the drink as his toast popped up. Deciding to eat it plain, Tucker set the mug down and picked up the toast before heading to his best friend’s side. “Is Simmons and Grif waiting for us?”

“Yeah. They’re already down in the lobby.” Church said as he opened the door, keys already in hand to lock it behind them.

Digging one hand into his pockets, Tucker started to make his way towards the stairwell as he ate his late breakfast. Church quickly caught up to him and they walked down the stairs, their conversation quickly became nothing more than incessant bickering between old friends. By the time that they had reached the main floor, no one would have been able to tell that it was a conversation between the friends, and not an argument.

Church had been right, Grif and Simmons were waiting for them in the main lobby, but the sight of the building’s head custodian stopped the two friends in their tracks. From where they stood, it looked like Lopez was having a heavy argument with Grif about his certain . . . lifestyle. But considering that Grif didn’t know a lick of Spanish, and that Lopez seemingly couldn’t speak English despite knowing it perfectly, the language barrier was ever so slowly infuriating the custodian.

“For the last time Lopez, I don’t know what you want from me!” Grif said exasperatedly, getting angry at this encounter as well.

 _“Your. Dishwasher. Is not. Where. You. Clean. Socks.”_ Lopez said through clenched teeth.

He paused after every other word, hoping that going slowly would allow for Grif to understand him. Lopez waited for a few seconds so see if anything had gotten through to the Hawaiian. But after the blank look Grif gave him, Lopez muttered a few swear words under his breath and walked away. Seemingly giving up for the moment, Tucker knew that Lopez would try again later after he had calmed down.

Once Tucker and Church were sure that Lopez was gone for good, they headed over towards their friends.

“The hell was that about?” Tucker asked.

Grif answered with a shrug of his shoulders as Simmons said. “The fuck if we know. It was probably something Grif did to piss him off.”

“Hey! Why do you assume it was me this time?” Grif accused his friend, giving Simmons a hard nudge between ribs.

“Because asshole,” here Simmons returned the gesture and smacked Grif on the back of the head lightly, “you always do something to piss Lopez off. If I remember clearly, that was the first fucking thing you did when we moved here.”

“Okay, but that one was an accident.” Grif muttered as he rubbed his now sore head.

“Come on, you old married couple. Let’s get moving before the bus leaves without us.” Church said with an impatient sigh. He started to head towards the door, ignoring the small, blubbering complaints from Grif and Simmons. Church rolled his eyes as he exited the building, knowing that any attempts to deny their relationship would not convince him otherwise. “Are you assholes coming, or what?”

“Ugh, fine.” Grif said as he followed Church. After a few seconds, Grif muttered. “I hate you so much right now.”

Tucker rolled his eyes at that and followed Simmons out the door. The group of four made their way down the block and towards the nearest bus stop. The cold air stung Tucker’s exposed skin, and he hugged his jacket closer to his body. It hadn’t snowed in Chicago since that bad storm three weeks ago, but the temperature had dropped a good fifteen degrees since then. And it didn’t help that the Windy City was being . . . well, windy. The wind chill alone felt like it could freeze Tucker to death.

After about a ten minute walk, the four found the bus stop and took residence in the small glass bus shelter. Others were waiting for the public transportation to arrive as well, so the friends kept to themselves as they huddled together for warmth. Tucker rubbed his chilled fingers together, trying to bring back circulation in them as well as keep him occupied during the wait for the bus. In a matter of minutes, the large bus pulled up.

A few passengers left the bus for their destination, hurrying down the sidewalk to get out of the cold wind. After they had cleared, Tucker and the others quickly climbed aboard. The bus was packed, due to the fact that no one wanted to be walking in this blasted weather, leaving no seats open for Tucker to take. Tucker stood up and grabbed onto the nearest pole, hoping he wouldn’t his balance when the bus started moving.

Church grabbed onto the same pole and pulled out his phone as he did so. Tucker watched as his best friend type a quick message to someone. This went on for a few minutes, and the longer it went on the more Tucker’s curiosity grew.

“Who are you texting?” Tucker suddenly asks, breaking the silence of the packed bus.

“Hmm? Oh, my girlfriend. Beth.” Church answered, not breaking eye contact from his phone. A few seconds passed as Tucker waited for him to elaborate. After Church finished what seemed like a long text, he pocketed his phone and turned to face Tucker and the others, who had fortunately snagged some seats next to them. “She’s who we’re meeting tonight. Her and a couple of her friends.”

“You have a girlfriend? Since when did this happen?” Simmons asked with feigned curiosity.

Simmons definitely remembered the conversation he and the others had on game night a couple weeks ago. It’s been an established fact that Church had a girlfriend; they just didn’t know who it was. Of course, they kept knowing Church’s little secret behind the guy’s back. This had been a difficult task, since Caboose, that talkative bastard, had known as well.

“About two years now, man.” Church answered Simmons, seemingly oblivious to the sarcastic tone he had asked him in. “We don’t see each other that much, which is why you guys haven’t met her yet.”

“So what? Is this like ‘Meet the Parents’ except with friends?” Grif asked, frowning with confusion. “Wow, I didn’t you we mattered that much to you, asshole.”

“Ha, no. She’s already met my parents.” Church explained, scowling slightly at Grif. “She doesn’t get to visit me this much and she wanted to go out and get some drinks tonight. I asked her if you guys could come and she said only if she could bring her friends.”

“So we’re drinking with company? Is this a party, Church?” Tucker asked, unsure of whether he liked this idea or not. “I don’t know about this . . .”

On one hand, one of these friends might be hot and easy to score with. And Tucker hadn’t been laid in _quite_ a while. But on the other hand, it would be difficult having a one night stand with someone that indirectly knew Church. And through experience, one night stands only worked when there weren’t any complicating connections between bed partners.

“Oh, come on Tucker . . .” Church said, trying to encourage his friend as he patted him on the back. “It’ll be fun! A couple of drinks between friends, some stories and jokes to tell, getting so hammered you can’t see straight.”

“Yeah . . .  yeah, I guess you’re right.” Tucker admitted, smiling enough to get Church off his back. Tucker knew that Church had convinced him enough to get through the night. He would be okay as long as the company was fun to be around. What would happen after getting drunk, he’d worry about that later. “A couple drinks do sound pretty good right about now.”

“That’s the spirit!” Church said with a large grin. He chuckled and then straightened his scarf out before continuing. “Oh, and take my advice: don’t challenge any of her friends to an arm wrestling match and you’ll be fine.”

“Ugh. I don’t even want to know.” Tucker muttered with a shake of his head.

The rest of the ride went by pretty quickly after that.  _Tasty’s_ was a far ride away from their apartment. On average a bus trip would take them about twenty to thirty minutes, depending on the weather. But the long ride was well worth it for the dive bar’s greasy, delicious food and the cheap drinks. It had been the first place Tucker and Church had sat down and ate at when they first moved to Chicago for college. The place won their hearts that day and it’s been a favorite of theirs since.

By the time that the bus reached the stop the four friends would need to get off at, Tucker’s stomach was letting him know that a mug of tepid coffee and a single piece of dry toast was not enough for him to survive on. Tucker patted his stomach as he exited the warm bus and made a mental note to order a burger and some fries when they arrive. Knowing Grif, the glutton would also order something before they started drinking.

About another five minute walk and the four arrived at  _Tasty’s_  open doors. Tucker opened the door for the others to hurry inside. They did just that and Tucker followed them in. The bar was surprisingly empty for a Friday night. But then, the winter weather was enough as a deterrent for most paying customers to stay indoors tonight. It was just that Tucker and the others were too dumb and stubborn to stay indoors when they could be sharing a drink.

Church led them over towards a large table that would be able to sit somewhere between eight to ten people. Tucker took a seat and quickly looked at the single waitress and motioned for a menu. He felt like he was fucking starving and he wasn’t waiting for Church’s girlfriend and her friends to arrive to order food. With a swift nod of her head, the waitress left her post and hurried towards the group with a couple of menus.

“Oh, it’s you guys again.” The waitress said, her voice having a hint of recognition in it. “You four are becoming quite the regulars here. What do you guys want to start with?”

“A burger and some waffle fries, please.” Tucker said before the others could even speak; he didn’t even need to look at the menu to order his food. He looked up at the waitress and smiled; there was no need to be rude to her. “Thanks.”

The woman nodded and took the others orders. She returned later with a beer for everyone, knowing from experience that they liked to drink. And while Tucker and his friends waited for their food, they drank and talked. They felt just as home here in the bar as they did in their own apartments. When their food finally arrived, Tucker dug in. He ate quickly; the need to eat greater than the want to savor the greasy food with each bite.

The others were not as quick to finish their food. Tucker then began to nurse his bottle of beer as he chatted with the other three. It was only a subconscious action that Tucker pulled out his phone and opened the texting app. When he noticed that he had it open, Tucker stared at his conversation with Wash from this morning.

Biting his bottom lip softly, Tucker typed a message.

_Any plans for tonight?—Tucker, 4:33_

He watched his phone, waiting for Wash to text him back. Fortunately, he didn’t have that long to wait.

_Nothing at all. I’ll probably run laps.—Wash, 4:34_

_Is that what you do with your free time in the army? Damn, that sounds boring as hell.—Tucker, 4:35_

_It will be, but I have to catch up after missing three weeks of drills.—Wash, 4:35_

_Don’t you ever get free time over-_

Tucker quickly erased that and started a new message. No need to anger Wash like he did during that first day.

_When is your next leave from that base of yours?—Tucker, 4:36_

_Not for a long while. Maybe sometime in January.—Wash, 4:37_

_Look, can this wait Tucker? I really have stuff that I have to do.—Wash, 4:37_

That text had caught Tucker off guard. Wash rarely, if ever, sent Tucker a text telling him to fuck off for a while. Usually the man would wait until he had the opportunity to get back to him. But Tucker decided not to question it further, assuming that Wash was just overly stressed at the moment. Tucker knew that if he had been stabbed and forced to take three weeks of his job off, assuming that he’d have one, he’d probably be stressed out as well.

_Okay, good luck man. I’ll probably be at a bar all night getting drunk if you need me.—Tucker, 4:39_

He received no reply from Wash. Tucker pocketed his phone in his jacket and returned to the conversation at hand, as if nothing had ever happened. Somehow Simmons and Church had gotten into debating something that was way over Tucker’s head. Judging by the look on Grif’s face, it was the same for him.

By the time that everyone had finished their meals, their company had arrived.

One second, it had only been the four of them and a few stragglers nursing their own drinks alone. In the next, the front doors swung open and a cold breeze rushed through the bar. Tucker shivered as he turned around and spotted five new figures making their way into the bar. The leader of the group, a strongly built blonde lady pulled off her coat and then looked around the small bar.

When she spotted Church and the small group of friends, she smiled. Before Tucker knew it, Church was standing up, pushing the chair he was using away. The blonde came over to him and the two shared a small tight hug. From this angle, Tucker could see Church kiss the girl on the cheek and that’s when he realized that this was the mysterious Beth he had seen Church FaceTiming with weeks ago.

The two lovers shared words that Tucker couldn’t quite hear. After that, Church turned around and faced Tucker and the others as he placed his arm around Beth’s shoulder.

“Guys, this is Beth. My girlfriend.” Church said, obviously trying to get the introductions done and over with. Beth smiled before giving the group a small, half-wave towards them. At this part, Church raised a hand and started pointing towards them. “This here is Grif and Simmons. . .”

Here, Simmons and Grif said their hellos.

“. . . and that’s Tucker. My friend I was telling you about.” Church continued.

“Yo.” Tucker said, nodding his head before taking another sip of his beer.

“Nice to make your acquaintance. Like Leonard said, I’m Beth. He’s told me a lot about you guys.”

“Wait a second . . .” Grif said as he learned over the table. He started to look very nervous. “How much has Church you about us? Like, about everything?”

“A lot.” And when the woman kept it at that, Tucker also felt nervous.

But Tucker didn’t have that long to dwell on it when Beth turned towards the four other strangers behind her back. They had been watching Tucker and the others from afar, as if judging them. Now that the attention had been shifted on them, Tucker took in the people he would be sharing a few drinks with tonight. And the first thing he noticed was that they were  _big._

Not big as in overweight, but as in they looked like each of them would be fully capable of pounding Tucker into the ground if he ever pissed them off. Even with their bulky winter coats and warm casual clothing, Tucket could practically see the muscles these guys had. It didn’t help the fact that even by looking at them; Tucker knew that they would all tower over him. Even the blonde guy in the back, the shortest in the group save for Beth, had to have almost half a foot on Tucker.

 _“Man, now I know why Church told me not to arm wrestle these dudes. They are fucking intimidating.”_  Tucker thought to himself. Forget about trying to get laid by one of these guys, how was he supposed to share a couple drinks with them?!

And while Tucker was thinking this, the new group was going through their own short introductions.

“Hey there. My name is Sean.” One of the men, the one with brown hair and a devilish grin that could rival Tucker’s, said taking a few steps forward to distinguish himself from the others. He stood next to Beth and grinned. “We’re from a college a couple hours south of here. Nice to meet you guys.”

Now Tucker wasn’t stupid; there was no way that these guys were their age. They had to have at least a couple years on them, especially the large bald guy in the back. But Tucker didn’t want to call these guys on their bullshit and nodded anyways.

“I’m Carol, his girlfriend.” The redheaded woman said as she leaned into Sean.

The woman looked over to the large brute of a man to her right. In Tucker’s opinion, he was by far the scariest of the five new arrivals. The man looked like he was nothing but muscle and scowls, had a shaved head, and either Tucker’s imagination was playing tricks on him or this dude was seven feet tall! Tucker could practically feel himself grow self-conscious about his short height by just staring at the man.

And what was the most frightening thing about this man was he only uttered a single word for his introduction. And it was in a very low, guttural voice.

“Francis.”

 _“Well, consider me terrified.”_ Tucker thought.

Tucker turned his gaze on the last man, the blonde one he had noticed earlier. This one was the shortest of them, and it looked like the most self-conscious one of his group if Tucker considered the way he was holding himself. When he noticed that all eyes were on him he frowned slightly and rubbed the back of his head and neck.

“David.” He said curtly. He looked over at Tucker and his friends before looking away quickly. “Call me David.”

“Ah, don’t worry about David.” Sean said as he walked over to his friend’s side. He patted his back, perhaps a bit too roughly judging by the sound each hit made. Sean grinned as he led David closer to the table. “He just gets shy around people he doesn’t know. He’ll warm up to you guys after having a couple shots.”

Tucker watched as David glared daggers at his taller friend, but it seemed as if Sean didn’t care about the looks directed towards him. Tucker nodded, and patted on the seat next to his. This caught the attention of both men and Tucker pulled the chair out.

“Pop a squat.” Tucker said. He paused to take a sip of his almost empty bottle. “Simmons already ordered another round of beers before you got here.”

“Simmons sound like my kind of guy.” Sean said with a smirk.

Sean soon left David’s side and went around the table to sit next to Simmons and Grif. Tucker couldn’t help but chuckle; if the man was planning on having a good conversation with those two assholes, then he would be deeply disappointed. The other new arrivals took that as their cue to sit down as well. Beth grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over towards Church, where she soon claimed her spot. The only other female in the group, named Carol if Tucker remembered clearly, sat down next to her own boyfriend.

And that only left two seats next to Tucker. Tucker turned to look at the two still standing and motioned for them to join him with a twitch of his head and a quick wink. Hopefully that would help mask the initial terror he had felt when he had laid eyes on Francis. Fortunately it seemed to work, as the big man let out a small chuckle and took the seat furthest from Tucker. And that left David with only once chair to choose from.

With a sigh, the man sat down next to Tucker just as the waitress came back.

“New friends I see? What’ll you have?” The waitress asked.

A new round of drinks was ordered and the waitress left in a hurry. For a long second, the nine companions looked around the table in silence, unsure of what to do or what to say. It was an awkward silence that Tucker didn’t particularly like. If it wasn’t for Church, the silence would have gone on for a lot longer.

“So . . . how do you guys like Chicago?” Church asked.

“Oh, we’ve actually been here before. But it’s usually not this chilly.” Carol answered a sweet smile on her face. “We used to come up here a couple time during spring and summer break when we can. But none of us have a car that can usually fit in the whole group, so usually we stay on campus.”

“You guys seem to be a bit old for attending college.” Simmons remarked, echoing Tucker’s earlier thoughts. Tucker perked up, eager to hear their answer. All eyes seemed to turn towards Simmons, and he quickly caught this. He shrugged before continuing. “It’s just an observation. I’m not saying it’s a  _bad_  thing.”

Sean coughed in his fist before answering Simmons. His answer sounded strained. “We joined school late. All of us have been part of the armed forces, and the school we’re attending has a scholarship for veterans. Some of us are older than the rest.”

Eyes turned towards Francis, and he shrugged as an answer.

“That sounds like a good concept. What are you guys majoring in?” Simmons pressed further. School and learning was one of his areas of expertise, and Tucker could clearly tell that his nerdy friend was enjoying this somewhat boring conversation.

“All different things. I’m in physical therapy. Carol’s in pre-law.”  Sean said before anyone else could answer. He quickly added a question for Simmons before David or Francis could give their own majors. “What’s your major, Simmons?”

“Advanced computer sciences. I really wanted to get into MIT’s Artificial Intelligence program but—”

Fortunately, Grif had covered Simmons’ hand before the nerd could really get in depth with his aspiring dreams and plans for his future. Simmons glared at him as Grif rolled his eyes. The Hawaiian didn’t dare take off his hand, knowing that Simmons would continue as soon as he let go.

“Simmons wants to be a fucking computer nerd. I majored in culinary arts. Church is trying to make it as an English teacher, and Tucker over there dropped out a couple years ago.” Grif ranted, frustration thick in his voice. “Now can we please change the subject? Or else Simmons will bore us to death with more computer mumbo jumbo.”

As he finished, Grif finally let go of Simmons. Simmons glared at Grif before muttering. “I fucking hate you.”

“That's not what you said last night.”

"Shut up, Grif."

After that, conversation between groups grew easier. Still, Tucker felt like their banter was boring, so he didn’t dare say much. Tucker soon found himself more interested in the drinks rather than the company. That was, until he started getting a little drunk about an hour into the small gathering. By that time, most of the stiffness of the first meeting had all but disappeared. One hour turned into several, and now they were all laughing and joking at stories they had to share.

In fact, it was Tucker who was currently telling the main story. He had long since abandoned his bottle of beer, using both hands to emphasize important events in his tale about Caboose’s stupidity. All eyes were on him, and even a few of the newcomers were wearing grins from the tale.

“And so I’m telling the fucking idiot not to do it again. His parents were paying most of the rent at the time so Church and I would have nowhere to live if he fucking killed himself again.” Tucker explained, becoming very animated the further he got through the story.

“Wait, again?! He died?!” Sean asked loudly. Tucker had soon learned that the big Burnette was a loud drunk, his favorite kind at any sort of party. “What did he fucking do before that?”

“Caboose drowned once when we went swimming in Lake Michigan. I don’t want to tell you all the details but all five of us had do go find his soggy ass and hull him up on the beach. There was no lifeguard on duty so we all had to perform CPR on the dude. If it wasn’t for Donut, who took classes with the Doc who next door to us, that kid would have died that day.” Tucker told him.

“Well shit. I guess you were right, Leonard.” Beth said low, probably for only Church to hear her. “He doesn’t sound all that smart.”

Church snorted. “Not that smart?! A bag of _bricks_  could beat Caboose on an IQ test. The guy is a good friend, but I don’t think he’ll live past thirty with the luck he has.”

“Oh man, I should tell you about what he did last night.” Tucker said enthusiastically. “The dude can’t drink or else he’ll get super nauseous. I had to spend the whole night awake to make sure he didn’t die of asphyxiation in his sleep from vomiting. And  _Church_  here was fucking sleeping like a baby!”

“Sounds like you had a rough time.” David spoke up, quickly finishing a gulp of his drink with a pathetically adorable grin.

“You bet your ass I did.” Tucker said, grinning at the man seated next to him. “He’s super lucky I’m such a good friend or else I’d be really pissed at him.”

With that, the entire group seemed to roar with laughter. The bar’s music had grown louder as time had moved on, so now the entire group had to yell at each other to hear. Tucker didn’t mind; this was the environment that he liked.  It made everyone relax and, Tucker could speak from experience, hell of a lot easier to get along with. Put a couple of beers in your system, and for the most part even the most boring social gatherings could become an experience to remember.

As everyone settled down, Tucker turned his attention on his newfound friends. He could consider these guys his friends, but that was probably because he was drunk now after his fifth beer. Once you got past their intimidating appearances, they were pretty cool dudes. Even now as they talked amongst themselves, Tucker finally understood that these were normal people that just wanted to share a drink or two. Just like Tucker and his own band of friends.

“Hey, that reminds me. Why don’t you guys call each other by your first names?” Carol asked, picking up on that fact well into her fourth drink. “I noticed it earlier but didn’t want to say anything.”

“Oh, it’s just something we do.” Grif spoke up for once. He picked himself up from his slumped position, where he had been leaning into Simmons side for the past half hour. “We were all assigned as roommates our first semester at school, and the college didn’t bother giving us the others first names. For the first few weeks we just did it to tease each other. And then it kinda stuck after a while.”

“Do you guys ever call yourself by your first name?” David asked, giving Tucker a confused look.

“You’re talking to Dick Simmons, Dexter Grif, and  _Lavernius_  Tucker. We kind of have the worst first names in the world. Ever.” Tucker pointed out. 

“Of all time?” David added before Tucker could continue, a small smirk on his face. 

“Of all _fucking_ time! Our last names sound way cooler than our first.” Tucker shouted, completely agreeing with David. He patted the man on the shoulder with a laugh. David laughed with him before returning to his drink. Tucker did so as well, finishing it with a couple gulps. He slammed the empty bottle and soon felt a rising feeling in his bladder. With that, he quickly stood up and finished talking. “You know what? You guys are alright in my book. Now wait a sec, I have to piss.”

“We’ll keep your seat warm buddy!” Church called out, waving his friend away with a hand that still held his half empty bottle. “Just hurry it up, fucker!”

Tucker flipped Church the bird, earning himself a few laughs, before he headed towards the restroom. Making sure that the room was unoccupied with a short knock, Tucker entered and closed the door behind him. He tried to make sure that the lock was on, since he knew from past experience that  _Tasty’s_ bathrooms were very finicky when it came to their locks.

With a small huff of breath, Tucker turned towards the toilet and unzipped his fly. Soon he was relieving himself. Once he was finished, Tucker zipped himself back up and turned towards the sink. As he was washing his hands Tucker heard the telltale sound of the men’s bathroom’s squeaky door swinging open.

“Oh god! Sorry. I thought it was locked.”

Tucker turned around and saw that it was David standing sheepishly at the door. The man was averting his grey eyes from Tucker and there was a small flush in his freckled cheeks, either from embarrassment or from being drunk. David smiled at Tucker as if that was enough for an apology and turned around to head back out.

“Naw man, you’re cool. I’m just about finished here.” Tucker said as he went back to washing his hands. As Tucker turned off the faucet, he turned to see that David was still in the small room, patiently waiting for his privacy. Tucker got a good look at his face and noticed how _red_ it was. “Are you okay dude? You’re not looking so hot.”

“It’s just the alcohol. Turns my face beet red.” David shrugged off, obviously not concerned about it. “It happens every time I drink.”

“Are you sure, because I don’t think humans are supposed be that shade of red.” Tucker asked. He finished wiping his hands off with his shirt and walked over to David. “Here, let me feel your forehead.”

At first, David flinched, obviously not wanting some stranger’s hand touching his face. But after Tucker hesitated for a second, giving the taller man a reassuring smile, David let out a small, defeated sigh and bent his head down as a welcoming gesture. Tucker carefully put the back of his hand against David’s forehead.

“Yeah. You’re pretty hot. Are you sure you’re not feeling sick?” Tucker asked as he pulled his hand away. Tucker looked up at the man, who was slouching as he stared right at Tucker. For a second Tucker was thrown off balance as the man’s slate grey eyes stared straight into his. They shared their gaze for a few seconds longer before David seemed to shake himself out of it. After that, Tucker dropped his own gaze. “Err, sorry about that.”

“No, no it’s . . . fine.” David said. “It was my fault.”

At that, Tucker nodded and looked back up at the man. David’s face was still red, but Tucker was fairly sure it was now because the man was embarrassed. Because Tucker sure as hell was embarrassed. What made this encounter even worse was that Tucker thought David _was_ pretty hot.

Now, Tucker wasn’t straight; he learned that from a young age. He quickly caught on that he was just as attracted to men as he was to women in high school. Still, he had preferences. And usually he preferred women. But the more Tucker drank, and the longer he did so, the more he preferred the same sex. And right now, Tucker was _really_ drunk.

And here he was, in a single stall bathroom with a man that Tucker knew he was definitely attracted to. David was tall and muscular, and while he hadn’t carried himself with confidence when they first met, Sean had been right about him warming up to strangers. Now David stood at his full height, towering over Tucker with his lips slightly parted and a blush that would put a school girl to shame. Tucker would be lying if he said he wasn’t more than turned on.

Tucker took half a step forward before he realized that he was making one bad, _drunk_ decision.

“Look, uh. Maybe I should . . .”

David never had the chance to finish his sentence. He soon found his lips smashed against Tucker’s in a poorly planned attempt for a kiss. At first, Tucker could feel the other man’s surprise, but after a moment of hesitation David drooped a bit and moaned, allowing Tucker easier access to his mouth. Tucker readily accepted the invitation and moved in closer. A few steps forward and soon David was cornered against the public restroom’s wall with Tucker desperately grasping at the bathroom’s wallpaper for support.

The longer they kissed, the more Tucker noticed that David didn’t have much experience when it came to sucking tongue. Tucker smirked to himself at the prospect of teaching the man under him the do’s and don’ts of make out sessions. But just as he thought his experience would win him dominance in this encounter, David flipped places, forcing the two to change positions.

Now it was Tucker pinned against the dirty wall. David was only inches away from him as he caught his breath. Tucker tried to catch his own, but was cut off when David crushed his lips back onto his, teeth clattering against teeth. The taller man was ferocious with need and that surprised Tucker, but not enough for it to phase the younger man. Instead, it made him even more excited. Tucker opened his mouth wider, allowing David to explore inside of him.

The next opening Tucker had, he found himself exploring the taller man’s neck. Knowing better not to suck on the guy’s skin, or else the others would surly notice, he left soft kisses instead. This got the reaction that Tucker wanted, as David sucked in a sharp breath and then a whispered cuss word. Tucker could feel the taller man crumble around him as he trailed kisses down and around his exposed neck. And when he allowed David to do the same to him, he was not disappointed.

There was no way to tell how long this went on before the smarter part of Tucker’s brain kicked in. Once he realized that he was making out in a public restroom, with the door still _unlocked_ , Tucker pushed David away with both hands. It may have been his imagination, but it sounded like David groaned in disappointment before taking the hint and stepping away.

As soon as they had finished, it was back to the awkward staring between one another.

“Err, sorry about that.” Tucker apologized, averting his eyes as he spoke. He rubbed one of his shoulders as he looked at David’s shoes, finding them particularly interesting at the moment. “Sometimes I can’t control myself.”

“No, you . . . you’re fine.” David said, his voice thick and slightly rough. A few seconds passed before David spoke up again. “I uh, I still have to use the restroom.”

“Oh. I’ll get out of your hair then.” Tucker said quickly.

Tucker left after that. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he heard David turn the lock. The door was locked into place, and now Tucker was standing on the other side of it, wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into. And how much he wanted to do that agan. Taking his sweet time walking back to the table, Tucker went over the encounter again. He was still thinking about David when he returned to his seat.

“Took you long enough. What the hell happened back there?” Grif asked, bringing Tucker out of his short stupor.

“Ran out of toilet paper.” Tucker muttered as he returned to his drink, only to find it empty. Before he could even think if it was a smart idea to drink any more than he already had, the waitress had handed him another bottle of beer. “I just feel sorry for David. I kept him waiting the entire time.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him. He could have come back and waited here with us.” Sean said as he made a face, completely oblivious to Tucker’s lie.

“He didn’t come back?” Tucker asked, feigning curiosity.

“Naw. Not at all.”

With a shrug, Tucker rejoined the conversation. Now it was Sean and Carol talking about one of the adventures they had been on. It was easy enough to follow and it helped Tucker take a certain person off of his mind. He even barely paid attention to David as he sat back down next to him. A quick glance at the man’s face and Tucker saw that it was still flushed read, and that he wasn’t looking at Tucker at all.

Someone caught on that David wasn’t himself.

“Are you okay, David?” Beth asked, interrupting Sean’s story. She had a concerned look on her face, and her head was tilted in a fashion that reminded Tucker of a confused dog. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Hm? Oh I’m fine. But I should probably stop drinking for a while.”

“Okay then.”

And so their conversation continued. But now Tucker was no longer interested in what they had to say. David had grown quiet next to him, and it seemed like the man was dozing off now that the full affects of alcohol were getting to him. The conversation went on for a few minutes longer before Tucker grew bored enough to play with his phone.

Without even thinking, Tucker opened up his messaging app.

_Man, I wish you were here. I’m having a hell of a time right now.—Tucker, 9:42_

_I don’t know, running laps all day seems to have its merits.—Wash, 9:42_

Tucker smiled at his phone, glad to know that Washington was able to text him at the moment. Usually the guy stopped around now, ready to go to bed with this curfew he had mentioned at one point. He just hoped that Wash was awake and sober enough to deal with his drunk antics.

_I’m pretty sure drinking with friends is a lot more fun than running for laps.—Tucker, 9:43_

_Well I didn’t say I didn’t have a couple drinks between laps.—Wash, 9:43_

_No kidding? You’ve been fucking drinking without me? Now that is a crime.—Tucker, 9:43_

_Where are you? I’m coming right over to share a beer with you.—Tucker, 9:44_

_Still on base. And I don’t think you’re able to sneak in.—Wash, 9:45_

_Well shit. You should have snuck out of that base of yours. I’m have a couple of bottles with people I’ve never met before. You woulda fit right in and no one would have been able to tell which group you were a part of.—Tucker, 9:46_

_What bar are you at?—Wash, 9:47_

_A bar called Tasty’s. Got the best cheap beer this side of town.—Tucker, 9:47_

While Tucker waited for a reply from Wash, he was distracted by David, who started choking on his newly aquired glass of water. The poor guy was suddenly coughing up the liquid, bending over the table as he did so. One hand was on the table for support and the other was holding onto his iPhone. Everyone stopped and looked at the man in silence, unsure of what to do.

Tucker acted quickly, grabbing the man’s left shoulder and holding him steady as Francis did the same with his right side. David flinched at the contact and then waved Tucker away angrily without even looking at his direction. Tucker frowned but complied, retracting his hand from the contact and inching further away from the man.

“David, are you okay?” Carol asked, sounding more serious and sober than she had for most of the night. “Do you need to lie down for a moment?”

“No, I’m fine!” David managed to choke out. He coughed a couple more times before answering. “Just give me a moment to catch my breath.”

“Dude, should I call 911?” Tucker asked, giving David a look that told the man that he wasn’t entirely convince.

“I don’t think so. Just . . . maybe I should leave.” David said abruptly. He stood up quickly, his chair squeaking against the bar’s wooden floor from the movement. David swung his coat back over his shoulder in a singular motion before anyone could even answer him. As he zipped himself up, he continued with an excuse. “I’ve already had way too much to drink, and I probably shouldn’t press it any further.”

“Are you heading back to the motel already?” Sean asked, giving his younger friend a concerned look. David nodded and Sean let out a small sigh. The Brunette fished his pocket quickly and then clumsily tossed a pair of keys over the table towards the blonde man. “There you go, man. Just take it easy for a while. And if you need help with anything, just call one of us.”

David gave Sean a curt nod before he left their table. He didn’t say anything else as he exited the bar, hands in his coats pockets and head hanging down low. He left so hurriedly that Tucker’s head was still spinning by the time David’s figure disappeared from his view through the windows. Tucker was left wondering what the hell had just happened.


	6. Chapter 6

_Arms were wrapped around him, hands clenching the back of his shirt to find some form of a grip. The nails seemingly teasing his skin and the pads of his fingers felt scalding hot against his chilled back. Just like the breath against Wash’s neck. The small, fine arm hairs sent shivers down Wash’s spine as they rubbed against him. Wash couldn’t help but moan before feeling his knees buckle. Wash sank lower, into the waiting embrace and kiss of the shorter man._

_Who knew that skin could feel so soft when there was so much friction involved? Wash felt like he was learning a lot of things._

_Warm lips met his and it soon left Wash breathless. He wanted more and pushed against the other person. They pulled back, teasing Wash playfully until he was forced to take what he wanted. Wash bit down on his partner’s bottom lip softly, ensuring that they weren’t going anywhere until he was finished. There was a smile in their lips as they continued kissing, and kissed deeper. Wash couldn’t help but smile with them._

_A hunger and warmth sank deep into the pit of Wash’s stomach, travelling down to his groin. He seemed to lose control of his body as it fell forwards once again. Now the hands of his partner were traveling up and down his body, ignoring Wash’s T-shirt in the process. A hand found his nipple and played with it teasingly._

_“Oh, **fuck**.” Wash’s voice was thick as he moaned into the curly brown hair underneath him. His own hands found his partner’s shoulders and leaned on them for support. _

_“I thought you’d like that.” There was a smirk in his partner’s words. Wash ignored the man's know-it-all tone and bent forward again, planting a peck on his cheek._

_“I don’t mind it, yes.”_

_“Shut up, David.” And then they were back at it._

_The other’s mouth overpowered Wash’s, and he didn’t mind at all. The hot breath against his upper lip felt like heaven the longer they kissed. The taste of this man was addictive, reminding Wash of dark chocolate. He had wondered that after first meeting him; if his skin tasted as delicious as it looked. At least now Wash knew for sure, and he wasn’t disappointed with the answer._

_Suddenly, the shorter man pulled back. Wash looked into the man's warm brown eyes before furrowing his brow in confusion. Something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what._

_"David, is there something you need to tell me?"_

_Was there?_

_. . . Yes. Yes there was. Something big, something that was eating away at him. But whatever it was, Wash couldn't think of it. Not when he had been so focused on the man that had just been arousing him to his wits end._

_"I . . . I can't remember."_

_A smile found its way onto his partner's lips, and the shorter man drew closer again. Wash welcomed the warmth of his body and held it close, enjoying the feeling of the person running his hands through his thick blond hair. A wet kiss was planted on his neck, which sent shivers down Wash's spine._

_"I'm not a patient man, David." Wash felt the man's soft palm against his cheek, and he turned to rest his head on the other's. "But I'll wait a little while longer."_

Wash suddenly woke up, eyes cracking open despite the darkness of early morning.

He could hear his heart racing. He could feel blood rushing to his warm cheeks. And he could definitely feel the weight in his chest where his heart was. Washington took a few seconds just to steady his breathing; in and out, in and out again. As this went on, he could slowly feel his heart rate dropping to where it ought to have been. Slowly, Wash brought his hands to his head and rubbed his temples in a soothing motion. Once he knew that he was fully in control of his own body, Wash got out of bed as quietly as he could.

That was the second dream he had had that dream since that fateful Friday night. It seemed that no matter what Wash did he couldn’t rid his memories of his encounter with Tucker. Or the resulting feelings of tremendous guilt and mortification out of mind. It didn’t help that every time Wash thought about it, his brain would remind him how wonderful it felt as well. For the rest of the weekend, his stomach had grown nauseous with all these conflicting feelings.

But now it was Monday, and it was back to the real world for Washington. He was David no more. For once, he was looking forward to the first set of drills after leave. Checking his phone as he got dressed, he not only noticed that he was up just before his alarm went off, but that Tucker had left another new message for him during the night.

Color returned to Wash's cheeks at the sight of the text. He let out a small, conflicted sigh before throwing his phone down on his bed. He’d deal with this problem after going through with the rest of his day. For now, Wash needed to know what this _Phase Two_ had planned for him. He had read an email he received last night when they returned to the base, but it only left him confused and slightly frazzled as he tried to process the information and orders given to him. 

Wash looked around the room before he left. He was surprised to find that his bunk mate North was already up and gone. Wash frowned at himself before realizing the other man was probably just as curious about Phase Two as he was. Now curious to see who else in Squad Alpha was up early, Wash left with only a quick backwards glance towards this phone sitting on his bed.

Maine's obnoxiously loud snores broke Wash's gaze, and he left the room. He kept his pace brisk as he reached the Training Room. Just as he thought, he wasn’t the only one up this early in the morning. As he entered through the Training Room’s doors, Wash saw that Carolina and Tex were up as well, already dressed for the day and overlooking the surprisingly empty Training Room. All traces of the crates and the  _Mjolnir_ armor sets had disappeared over the weekend.

Wash decided to ignore the apparent lack of their armor sets and instead focused on the two women. Carolina and Tex stood next to each other, arms crossed as if they were silently debating together. They barely recognized his arrival as he went to stand by them.

“Hey.” Wash greeted them with a nod. He stood there with them and followed their gazes over to the men’s locker room. A long moment of silence passed as he stared at it as well. After a few minutes, Wash frowned and spoke his confusion. “What’s, uh . . . what's going on?”

“North is in there, trying the new armor out." Carolina answered, nodding her head as she did so. However, her steady eyes never left the locker room’s entrance. "He volunteered to be the test subject before the others got up. We’re waiting so see if he needs any help.” 

“How long has he been in there?” Wash pressed further, he was already imagining North helplessly trying to fit into one of those huge, colored armor sets.

“About fifteen minutes, maybe. ‘Big Sis’ Carolina over here is beginning to get worried.” This time it was Tex who spoke up, who pointed at Carolina with her thumb before recrossing her arms.

"Can it, Tex.” It seemed their leader didn’t really like Tex’s nickname for her.

Fortunately the two women’s dispute was cut short as North stepped out of the men’s locker room. Or, Wash assumed it was North, because the figure was suited up in  _Mjolnir_ armor. It was even the purple armor set that Wash and Connie had uncovered on Friday. The three of them quickly fell silent as they watched a purple armor clad soldier take heavy, slow steps towards the center of the room. When North finally reached them, Wash couldn’t help but stare at the reflective orange visor where North’s face should have been.  He was surprised to find how nervous he looked, even from this angle.

For Wash, it was like he stepped into a cult fiction sci-fi movie about space marines versus hostile aliens from the cheesy 1980’s era. To tell the truth, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the tall, imposing figure in front of him started singing Daisy May in a synthesized voice and demanded them to take him to their leader.

“You’re looking good for someone wearing purple, North.” Tex said with a smirk on her face.

At that, the purple figure in front of them shifted their weight to one foot and swiveled their head towards the woman who spoke. It took them a second to cross their arms in the large heavy plating, but they managed to pull it off. The pose practically screamed North, despite the fact that Wash couldn’t even see his friend’s face.

And then words came from the figure in front of them. Only they were garbled and hard for Wash to understand.

“I’m . . .  can make . . . on me.” North said, his words sounding soft when said inside his helmet.

“North, we . . . didn’t quite catch that.” Wash said, motioning to his ear.

He hoped that North didn’t have the same hearing problem that they did. If North couldn’t hear them, then how would they be able to talk together in the field? That seemed to be a design flaw the UNSC had accidentally overlooked. However, it didn’t seem to be the case when North just shrugged as a response and tapped at the area where his own ear should have been before nodding and giving them a thumbs up. 

“Okay, then. So you can definitely hear us.” Wash continued. “But how are we going to talk together when we’re all in our armor?”

“From what I’ve read in the email the Director sent us, the helmets have a built in automatic radio system. It tunes into the other suits around it as soon as it powers up.” Carolina said, finally turning her attention off of North and onto Wash. She shrugged before continuing. “Once you get into your own set of armor, you’ll be able to hear North, clear as day. We’ll all be able to.”

“Right. My own suit. And which one is that?” Wash asked, looking back at Carolina for his instructions. "And where are the other suits anyways?"

“The suit should already be in your locker, ready for you.” Carolina said before stepping away from the small group. She started making her way towards the women’s locker room. As she walked away, she continued speaking, her words echoing off of the Training Room’s walls. “Come on, we should probably get dressed before the others arrive in case they’ll need help.”

“Got it, Boss.” 

“Aye aye,  _captain_.”

Carolina ignored Tex’s sarcastic remark and entered the women’s locker room. Tex followed her shortly afterwards, leaving Wash and North without saying anything. Wash turned to look at North; he still felt a bit uneasy around the suited man. Something about the armor just threw the younger Freelancer off balance. North just shrugged at Wash before he reached up and grabbed his helmet with both hands. He pulled his helmet off, the piece of armor hissing at him as it did so. Hmm, there must be some kind of decompression system working there.

North looked down at him with his kind blue eyes. There was a reassuring smile there, and it did its job as Wash let out a small sigh. North hugged his helmet against his chest plate with one hand as he gently patted Wash with the other. Well, North tried to make it as gently as possible, but the power armor must have thrown him off because Wash felt his rib cage rattle with the force.

“Come on Wash, I’ll help you get suited up.”

“Thanks, North.”

The two men left the main room, ready to begin their most likely long and arduous day. Wash headed for the locker room first, both excited and nervous to see the armor he had been assigned. North followed Wash, his booted footsteps loud with each step he took. Each step rang in Wash’s ears, and he realized that it would take him some time to get used to the sound.

When Wash reached his locker, he stared at it for a few seconds. Oddly enough, this felt like a twisted version of Christmas morning, and his present was his designated _Mjolnir_ armor. Wash thought,  _Well here goes nothing,_ before he raised his hand up and pulled the locker open. He was greeted with the sight of grayish steel power armor staring down at him. Wash instantly gazed up to the orange visor, where he noticed a single strip of yellow paint at the top of the helmet. Again, he saw his reflection, and this time he looked incredulous. Somehow he didn’t know whether he’d like wearing  _Mjolnir_  armor after all.

After a few moments of staring at the armor, Wash was able to mutter out, “I’m going to look like a fucking highway.” 

North laughed at that before placing his helmet down on the bench in front of the row of lockers. He reached into Wash’s locker and grabbed Wash’s own helmet and set it beside his. The purple clashed with the gray and Wash decided to look towards the rest of the armor instead.

“I’m sure that there won’t be any car that’ll want to run you over, Wash.” North said, half teasing the younger Freelancer. North reached into the locker again and pulled out something that reminded Wash of a scuba diver’s wetsuit, except for the fact that the material was much sturdier and thicker.  Wash stared at it when North placed it in his open hands. “Now put this on first. It holds the rest armor in place.”

“How?”

“To be completely honest, I have no idea. But it does.”

Wash let out a small “huh” before he did as he was told. Carefully, Wash stepped into the suit and was thrown off balance when he realized that almost every inch of him would be covered by the material, even his fingers. It took him a while to get every finger in the correct hole and then he wiggled his toes, silently grateful that his toes were free from the webbing. The only part uncovered by the mysterious material was his head and his face, where the material stopped just below his chin.

“Now this is the tricky part.” North said after Wash had turned around and tested the flexibility of the fabric. 

Wash stepped away and gave North full access to his locker. Fortunately for Wash, the older Freelancer ignored the skateboard in the locker and reached for what looked like part of a boot. North looked at Wash expectantly before he realized North wanted his foot. Feeling like a five year old kid again, demanding for his mother to tie his muddy shoelaces, Wash complied and raised his foot. North guided the armor piece around Wash’s foot.

A quick second passed before the armor piece latched onto the fabric as if they were both magnetically attractive. The movement caught Wash by surprise and he flinched away from it. However, his foot was now much heavier than before, and it fell to the floor with a loud  _clang_. Wash stared down at his partially booted foot in surprise before looking up at North.

“What the hell just happened?!” Wash questioned.

North shrugged before answering. “I told you I don’t know how the armor works. But strangely, it does.”

“Every piece is like that?”

“Pretty much.”

The two fell into silence again as they continued putting the armor on. Time went by much faster with the extra set of hands and soon Wash was almost done. His body had grown heavier with each addition until it felt like he was in a state between being dead drunk and dead tired. After everything was on save for the helmet, Wash tested his flexibility once again. It felt limited compared to before, but that was most likely because he wasn’t used to wearing the armor yet.

Wash heard a hiss from behind him, and he turned to see that North had put his helmet on. A few seconds passed before North tapped the side of his helmet again. Wash understood the motion and walked the few steps it took towards his helmet. No wonder North had been moving so slow when he first entered the Training Room, everything was too heavy! Wash could feel himself start to get winded, as if the past three years of conditioning his body meant jack squat.

It took Wash longer than it should have been to bend over and reach his helmet. When it was in his hands, he felt clumsy. Wash managed to almost drop the gray helmet twice before he could place it over his head. As he got it over his head, he noticed how orange the world looked through the visor and frowned; that would seriously mess him up during sparring sessions. Would all Freelancers see the world in this hue? That didn’t seem like a good idea. 

However, after it hissed at him, suctioning itself onto the black fabric, the helmet came alive. It was only after the orange of the visor started to blend into the actual colors of the locker room that Wash realized he was looking at a screen as well. To the upper right corner of his vision was stamped the time in military time. To the bottom left of the visor/screen sat a small circle with a grey dot sitting in the middle of it. If he focused on it, Wash noticed that the circle would blink at him, but not enough to annoy him. It must be some form of a tracker.

Understanding that he wouldn’t understand what any of these things meant now, Wash turned to look at North. North stared at him, patiently waiting for Wash to do something. It took Wash a second to realize North was waiting for him to say something.

“How do I look?” Wash asked after a long moment of silence. 

“Like you said. Like a fucking highway.” North chuckled, his words sounding crystal clear to Wash’s ears. Just like Carolina had said earlier. “Can you hear me now?”

“Perfectly. It’s actually kind of strange.” Wash said.

North answered with a nod before saying. “No kidding; it feels like your right inside my head. Come on, we should probably head on out and wait for Carolina and Tex. They'll need to know that we’re both ready.”

“You two realize that we can hear you as well?” That was Carolina’s voice. It surprised Wash, as he was fairly sure that she was not in the same room as them, but it sounded like she was standing right by his ear. Just as Wash continued looking around the room for the source of Carolina’s voice, their squad leader continued. “We’ll be able to hear everyone as long as we’re within a short range of each other.”

“And what if we’re not?” Wash asked, looking up at the ceiling for no particular reason as he spoke.

“Well, you probably have to radio to the person you want to speak to.” North surmised. “Should we head out now, Carolina?”

“We probably should. No doubt the others are up by now.”

As the two men exited the locker room, they were met with the sight of Tex and Carolina suited up in their respected armors. At first, Wash had difficulty telling who was who. But soon he could distinguish Tex in her black colored armor, who was a few inches shorter than Carolina in her cyan armor. Also, it should have been a dead giveaway that their squad leader had been given a unique helmet, one that differed quite drastically from what seemed to be the standard helmet that he, North, and Tex had. With a small quirk of Carolina's helmeted head, she motioned for the three of them to follow her.

Sure enough, the remaining members of squad Alpha were beginning to file through the Training Room. Most of their squad mantes looked like they had just rolled out of their warm and cozy bunks five minutes ago, if Wash were to judge by their beheads and synchronized yawns. And after knowing these people for the past three years, Wash knew that that was the case.

The only one of his friends who didn't look completely exhausted after their weekend of debauchery was Connie. The woman was eyeing the suited figures with uncertainty as they made their way towards the rest of the group.

However, as the four Freelancers caught the eyes of their sleepy teammates, Wash could see a wave of excitement pass through them. South and Maine looked especially pleased at seeing the suited figures; Maine was grinning almost devilishly at Wash, who was surprised and impressed that the large man could seemingly tell it was him under the steel colored armor. Maine gave Connie a small nudge and then pointed at Wash, and the woman turned her curious gaze towards him.

Wash waved to his friends, which had caught the eyes of the other unsuited soldiers. South quickly swept her long bangs, which were now sporting dyed purple streaks, out of her eyes as she caught Wash's wave. And then she smiled in anticipation.

"Wash, is that you?" South asked and came up to him and poking his chest plate with a finger. If the woman had been planning on pushing Wash back with that one finger, she had failed miserably; Wash was rooted into place thanks to his heavy _Mjolnir_ armor. Instead of looking disappointed however, South grinned even larger as Wash nodded at her. "This is going to be _so cool_!"

"Why am I not surprised?" Tex muttered as she watched South begin to inspect Wash's armor, raising his arm as she felt the fabric between the armor's plating. South was softly muttering to herself as her eyes explored Wash's armor, examining each and every detail. "If anyone was going to be over excited over power armor, it'd be your sister, North."

"Hey, you'd be excited too if your childhood dream was coming to life right in front of your eyes." North said, defending his sister.

Wash turned to see North giving Tex a hard stare. Or what Wash assumed to be a hard stare, it was difficult reading others when they were wearing helmets. There was a pause as Wash and Carolina turned to look at North for a further explanation, and he shrugged. 

"Ever since we first heard about the Project when we were kids, South wanted to be a space soldier." North said with a quick bobble of his helmet. "This is a dream come true for her."

"So is that why both of you are in the Project?" Tex questioned further, crossing her arms. Her tone wasn't a mocking one; she sounded genuinely interested. It wasn't often that the twins talked about their childhood. Hell, most of them didn't really talk about their past altogether; it was just something that didn't come up. "Both of you wanted to be kick ass space marines as children?"

"Nah, that was her dream. I wanted to be in the Special Forces, sure, but Project Freelancer was South's thing. I joined because I knew Mom would sleep better at night if the two of us watched over each other's backs--"

"Care to tell us what you four are saying?"

It was York who had spoken up, and Wash turned to look at the man. York’s attention shifted between South's antics and the armored soldiers, as if trying to figure out which one was his girlfriend and squad leader. As if to answer for him, Carolina quickly took off her helmet, allowing for her long red locks to fall over her shoulders. South quickly dropped Wash's arm and returned to York and Maine's side, awaiting orders.

"It’s nothing really important, York. Just testing the radios." Carolina said with a small smirk. "They seem to be working at full functionality. Which means that it’s time for the rest of you to get suited up.”

And with that, Carolina started giving the group orders. 

"Your armor's already in your locker. It’s easy enough to get into, but you'll need some instruction for the first time. North, I want you to stay here and help the others get suited up."

 "Can do, Carolina." North said with a small salute, and then the man undid his helmet and made his way over to York. York smiled and nudged an elbow into North’s side and then he returned his attention towards their squad leader, who had paused before finishing her instructions.

"When all four of you are suited up, head out to the trail and wait for me, Tex, and Wash. I've been instructed to head up to the Director for a few minutes with a couple team mates in tow; he wants a look at his recruits in their new armor."

"The Director? Great. . ." Wash muttered sarcastically, and was grateful that only Tex could hear him now. 

"Oh cheer up Wash; it's only going to be for a couple minutes. And knowing the Director, all he's going to do is frown and glare for the entire time." Tex said, trying her best to sound encouraging to the youngest Freelancer. "It’s going to be five, maybe ten minutes tops."

"Whatever you say, Tex." Wash said with a sigh.

Carolina finished giving out orders relatively quickly. She redid her air and put her helmet back on. She turned to watch as North and the rest of the Freelancers made their way to the locker rooms, and then turned for face Wash and Tex. Without words, Carolina motioned to the door, and Wash followed her with only a small anxious sigh escaping his lips.

He really hoped that this meeting with the Director would only take as long as Tex had guessed. Wash was always uncomfortable whenever the Director was present. 

Walking down the halls of Project Freelancer was an experience, to say the least. Although it was still considerably early in the morning, the whole building was stemming with life as other Freelancer recruits were heading out to begin their morning drills. Staff was stirring around in their offices, and security was patrolling the halls. And of course, all eyes were on the three armored individuals. 

Wash, who was unused to this much attention on him, was thankful that the other soldiers couldn't see his sheepish expression. And he hoped that his body language didn't immediately tell them how uncomfortable he was with everybody's stares. Hopefully their stares would lessen with time, as Wash realized that soon they would all have their own set of armor.

The walk to the Director's office felt longer than it should have. By the time that Carolina led the two of them to the business section of the base, Wash had finally found that he was walking with a lot more ease than before, having finally found a way to move in the bulky armor that didn't slow him down. Still, he couldn't wait for drills to start; who knew how long he would last with the extra weight?

When they reached it, Carolina opened the door to the Director's office. As Wash passed through the opening after Tex, he eyed the golden text on the door's glass window. _Dr. L Church, Head and Founder of Project Freelancer_ screamed at him, and Wash quickly turned his gaze away from the writing and onto Tex's back.

As Carolina opened the door, Wash and the others were met with the sight of the Director's personal assistant and secretary, who was already at her desk, typing away on her computer. Phyllis barely looked up from the screen when she smiled. She was a bit too perky at this hour in the morning, and yet Wash noticed a lack of a coffee mug sitting somewhere on the woman's desk. Only god knew how that peppy woman was keeping herself awake at this hour.

Phyllis paused in her typing to say a quick hello.  Her eyes only left the computer screen for a brief second. "Good morning, Agent Carolina. The Director is waiting for you in his office."

"Thanks Phyllis, we'll head right in." Carolina said with a curt nod of her helmeted head.

Without knocking, Carolina opened the large, sleek doors that led to the Director's personal office. As Wash stepped in, he quickly realized that this was his first time he had ever been in this room. Usually, it was only squad leaders or important delegates that had the permission to enter the Director's office. And somehow, the place looked exactly like how Wash had always imagined it. 

The Director's personal office was large but open, and for some reason dimly lit. The only light source was from the large windows on the wall (really it was more window than wall) opposite of the doors the three Freelancers had just entered from. The early morning light from outside was filtering through the windows, the sun’s rays were just beginning to peek over the far horizon, and Wash had to assume that the cold from outside was as well. With a quick glance outside, Wash could see a few shapes of jogging Freelancers beginning their morning drills as they ran through the pristine winter wonderland. 

There was barely any furniture in the entire room, only a sleek black desk and a few arm chairs where visitors could sit and chat with the head and founder of the Project. On the Director's desk stood a neatly piled stack of paper, which was accompanied by a single black pen that acted as a makeshift paperweight. There was an opened letter by the corner of the desk, tucked under an empty glass. Wash couldn't help but notice a lack of a computer, and he wondered how the Director completed any of his work without the use of one. 

Wash's attention was soon caught by the sound of a whispered conversation. Suddenly there was a bright flash of light, which startled the young man. Wash, as well as Tex and Carolina, quickly turned to look at what they had assumed to be the flash of a camera, but were surprised to find nothing but the Director's himself, alone. The older man's hands were held behind his back, and he was staring out the window, towards the jogging Freelancer's Wash had spotted when he had first entered the room. 

At first glance, it seemed the Director didn't notice the three of them entering, but Wash knew better. No, the man was just waiting for the right moment to speak. And so Wash, Carolina, and Tex stood in silence while waiting for the Director to recognize their presence. Soon Carolina grew impatient, and she took a step towards the Director as if to catch his attention. She coughed to clear her throat.

"Director, Squad Alpha is suited up and ready to begin Phase Two." Carolina spoke up as she tried her best to stand up straighter and gave the man her best salute. "As per your request, I've brought Agents Texas and Washington for you to inspect their _Mjolnir_ \--"

"I know who's standing in front of me, Carolina." The Director said, interrupting the woman.

He only barely turned his head to look at the Freelancers before returning his attention to the world outside. As he did so, Wash spotted a Bluetooth device in the man’s right ear, answering his question of how the Director could hear Carolina through her helmet. Their squad leader froze at the Director's words, but then she nodded and returned to her spot near Tex's side.

"Any problems with the armor?"

"None, sir." Carolina said with a shake of her head. "No problems to report."

With that the Director finally twisted around to look at the Freelancers head on. Wash shouldn’t have been surprised to see that the man was still wearing his tinted glasses, even now in the first hours of sunlight. And just like Tex had predicted, the Director spent the next few minutes staring at them, obviously observing the suits of armor, as if trying to make a hard decision. Wash fought the urge to shift his wait under the Director’s scrutiny.  A frown formed at the edge of the Director’s mouth, as if he didn’t like what he had seen, and then he turned to face Carolina.

“Agent Carolina, return to my office at the end of the day. I want a status report of today’s practice.” The Director ordered.  “We need to discuss the schedule for Phase Two.  Until then, you are to—

There was a knock on the Director’s door. Wash twisted around just in time to see Phyllis poking her head into the room. Behind her, the bright lights of the room adjacent to the Director’s blinded Wash momentarily. He raised a hand to his eyes, momentarily forgetting he had a helmet on, and he smacked the visor with the tips of his fingers.

“What is it, Phyllis?” The Director demanded, sounding quite irritated that the woman interrupted him mid-sentence.

“Sir, I just received a call from the spokesperson with the UNHRC. The delegates they’ve sent are scheduled to arrive at 8 o’clock this morning.” Phyllis said. She took a step into the office and held out a small folder, which the Director took. The Director quickly opened the folder, and frowned at what he read. “Shall I prepare a formal greeting for when they arrive?”

The Director made an unsatisfying _humph_ before placing the file onto his desk.

“Do it Phyllis, and inform the other key personnel that we’ll be having company today. I want everything to be in perfect order for when they arrive. _They don’t need to see anything that’ll get their feathers riled up._ ” Director said, putting extra emphasis on the last sentence.

He shared a meaningful gaze with Phyllis, and the two had a silent exchange that Wash knew he could never fully understand. The moment passed and Phyllis nodded her head. She closed the door behind her, once again leaving the Freelancers alone with the man. The Director then turned his attention back on Carolina, and he took out the Bluetooth device before setting it on top of the fold Phyllis had given him.

“We will finish this discussion at a later date, Agent Carolina. Alone. You and your squad members are dismissed.”

The three Freelancers gave the Director a quick series of salutes and then exited the room without further adieu. As they finally entered the safety of the base’s halls, Wash let out a small sigh.

“Well, that wasn’t as unpleasant as you thought, eh Wash?” Tex asked, giving her teammate a small pat on his armored back.

“Yeah. But what was that about those visitors Phyllis mentioned? It sounded like it was something important.” Wash asked through a sigh, shaking his head. It was very rare that the Director let anyone not connected to theProject Freelancer enter the base, save for funding reasons. But as soon as Wash felt Carolina’s cold stare, he knew that he shouldn’t worry about what had just transpired back in the Director’s office. “You know what, never mind.  Let’s just meet up with the others and get this day started.”

Carolina slowly nodded her head in agreement. “No doubt the others are already suited up. Come on, let’s go. We're already behind today's schedule.”

* * *

 

The next 11 hours of Washington’s life were perhaps the worst in his life. Well, as far back as he could ever remember at least. It was as if the past three years Wash had spent conditioning his body had been absolutely useless. There was no part of him that didn’t hurt. God, his whole body ached after the strenuous activities he performed in his _Mjolnir_ armor. And judging by the pained moans he had heard in the locker room as they finally changed out of their armor, the other men were just as sore.

But now he was free, free from his armor and back in a grey t-shirt and sweatpants. And god, it felt wonderful to let his skin breathe. Wash knew that he reeked of sweat and he had horrible helmet hair, but the man couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. No, all he wanted to do was flop onto his bed and moan in achy soreness until sleep overtook him. He’ll shower tomorrow morning, before he’d have to get back in his armor.

Wash put the last few pieces of his armor in his locker and then slammed the door shut. He let out a sigh before leaving the locker room, waving goodbye to North and York, who were only halfway through disassembling their armor. The two friends were busy chatting about their past weekend in Chicago and were only paying half of their attention to the instructions given to them telling them how to get the _Mjolnir_ armor off. Surprisingly, Maine had been the fastest at undressing and was more than likely already at the base’s Rec Room, watching a rerun of Sunday’s football game with Connie, Wyoming, and Florida.  

“I’ll be in our room if you need me.” Wash huffed as he dragged one hand through his blond hair, waving goodbye at the two men.

Both York and North muttered their own farewells before returning their attention back towards each other.

The halls were quiet as Wash made his way back to the living quarters, as they usually were when drills for the day were completed.  Now there was only a roaming security officer or another Freelancer that passed through the halls. When Wash finally made it back to his room, he hesitated. It was only then that he remembered his phone still lying on his bed, text messages still screaming at him to read and reply to them.  

Wash frowned as he groaned but otherwise opened the door. Hell, he knew that he'd have to deal with this sooner or later, or otherwise he’d risk alienating Tucker. 

As Wash picked up his phone, he sat down on his bed and stared at the text messages.

_Dude! Guess who just got a job!—Tucker, Saturday at 2:23_

_This guy!—Tucker, Saturday at 2:23_

_I’m a waiter at a fucking diner down the street of where I live, but hey, it’s a job. And that means I can start paying rent.—Tucker, Saturday at 2:26_

_You should totally come and visit me at work on your next leave, Wash. You can crash at my place if you need to.—Tucker, Saturday at 8:08_

_I mean if you’d like to. I don’t wanna force you to visit me when you have leave.—Tucker, yesterday at 1:40_

_Because you told me you didn’t have that much free time. And you’d probably want to hang out with your friends.—Tucker, yesterday 5:16_

_Dude, did I do something to piss you off?—Tucker, yesterday at 11:37_

Wash read those texts for a second time before sighing and lying down on top of his bed. Now he felt selfish and guilty. You would have to be a fool not to see the hurt and concern that Tucker put with those words. Wash had never gone this long without texting the other man, but his embarrassment back in that bar had gotten the best of him.

Quickly, Wash typed a message and sent it.

_No. No you did nothing wrong.—Wash, 5:11_

The response was almost instantaneous.

_Then why the fuck are you ignoring me? Normally I’d be fine with it, but you haven’t answered me for a couple days.—Tucker, 5:12_

_I just have a lot on my mind right now. I’m actually a little busy at the moment.—Wash, 5:12_

_Ok then. Just let me know when you’re free.—Tucker, 5:14_

Wash felt bad for lying to Tucker. But he had absolutely no idea how to tell Tucker that he was the guy who made out with him in a public restroom. Even thinking about it that way in his head made Wash anxious. Wash spent the better half of the next ten minutes alone in his room, thinking of that encounter and blushing furiously. At some point, Wash had to cover up his face with his pillow, just in case York and North walked into the room while he was so flustered. York, while a great friend, would never let him live this down if he caught Wash blushing this badly.

All the while, Wash was helplessly trying to type the right words.

In the end, Wash decided to take that shower now. Hell, he always came up with good ideas during then. Maybe by then he’d have something worked out.

And so Wash grabbed a towel and a fresh pair of clothes and then headed towards the showers.

The showers were empty, allowing for Wash some much needed privacy. The water was hot against his skin, and Wash felt like he never wanted to leave the shower stall. The water pressure felt good against his sore skin, massaging it. The Freelancer closed his eyes tilted his head back, enjoying the feeling of water running freely through his hair, and he smiled peacefully. And he let his mind wander.

When Wash turned off the water, he still had no idea what to say. But now that he felt much better after a refreshing hot shower, the first thing he grabbed was his phone. Wash did his best to text Tucker as he struggled to put on his clothes.

_Tucker. I need to tell you something before you get mad.—Wash, 5:32_

_Okay that was quick. What’s up?—Tucker, 5:33_

_I lied to you. I wasn’t running laps last Friday.—Wash, 5:33_

_Okay then. I don’t really care if you lied about that.—Tucker, 5:35_

_But I was in Chicago last weekend. –Wash, 5:38_

Wash let out an anxious sigh and then pressed the send button.

_I was in Chicago and I met you.—Wash, 5:38_

One minute passed, as if it was a pregnant pause in a simple conversation, and then Wash’s phone erupted. It vibrated so violently that it threatened to fall out of the Freelancer’s hand.

_And you didn’t say anything?! Yeah, now I’m pretty pissed.—Tucker, 5:39_

_Why didn’t you say anything?!—Tucker, 5:39_

_Like “hey Tucker, I’m your good pal Washington!”—Tucker, 5:39_

_“Wanna get a couple drinks and pick up chicks?”—Tucker, 5:40_

Tucker’s anger was palpable. And part of Wash knew that he deserved some of Tucker’s ire. If the situation had been the same, but their positions switched, Wash would have been angry as well. But another part of him snapped as he read those texts. Wash had never really liked being yelled at as if he was a child, and it always brought the worst out of him.

Frustration and rage overtook Wash, and he shut off his phone before angrily pocketing it away in his sweats. Wash turned towards the sink’s mirrors, and he stared at his angry reflection after he rubbed the steam off of the surface. Wash gripped the side of the sink tightly for a few moments before turning the faucet on and splashing his face with cool water in an attempt to calm himself down.

Speaking of steam, he had to blow some of his own steam off or else he’d send something to Tucker that he’d instantly regret. Even in this state of mind, Wash knew how bad that could be.

Wash’s feet took him to where he wanted to go long before his brain started working for him. Wash found himself in the Project’s fitness center, which was practically deserted. There was only four other agents working out on their Monday night, as most of the Project’s recruits liked to relax after their drills and practice scenarios . They nodded at Wash’s arrival nonetheless, but then returned their attention to their workouts. Wash nodded as well before finding an open treadmill and starting it up.

Wash lost track of time as he jogged on the treadmill. Most of his attention had been plastered onto the flat screen TV on the opposite wall. Someone had put the Weather Channel on, and a meteorologist had spent the past hour or so going into great detail about the newest winter storm heading their way. It looked like the rest of December would be covered in never ending snow showers. It even looked like the first week in January was going to be hell.

 _Well, at least someone’s going to enjoy a White Christmas_ , Wash thought to himself as he finally decided to stop.

The treadmill powered down fairly quickly and Wash wiped the sweat off of his brow. So much for a clean, refreshing shower, there was no part of Wash that wasn’t sticky with sweat. He made his way over to the water fountain, having forgotten his water bottle back in his room, and took a long gulp of the cool, refreshing liquid.

With that, Wash decided that it was time to head back to the room and change into some new clothes before dinner was served in the cafeteria. And as Wash made his way back down the halls, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, only to feel his long forgotten phone. He felt his stomach drop, and then he plucked the phone out of his pockets and stared at its blank screen.

Wash frowned out of residual frustration and then turned his phone back on again. It took a few seconds to boot up, and then it was followed by two texts from Tucker

_Dude, I’m sorry about that. I get a bit nasty when I’m pissed off.—Tucker, 6:18_

_It’s been an hour, Wash. I’m really, truly sorry. Just please tell me when I met you.—Tucker, 6:49_

It seemed that Wash wasn’t the only one that calmed down within the hour. Wash paused in his steps and leaned against the hall’s wall, feeling the cool tiles against his sweaty back. He cradled his phone in his hand, the object suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. He had been selfish, keeping this to himself for so long. Some friend he was, dragging this out painstakingly long while still keeping Tucker in the dark. Tucker deserved to know.

As Wash stared at his phone, he slid down the wall, arms hugging his legs close to his chest. _Stop being so damn dramatic, Wash_ ¸ he told himself _._ Wash closed his eyes and sucked in one last deep breath.

_We already had drinks together.—Wash, 6:56_

_Tucker, I’m David.—Wash, 6:57_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the obscenely long period of time where I didn't post an update. A few months ago, my computer died on me and I lost almost everything, including about 80% of this chapter and what was written for the next. If that hadn't been the case, this chapter would have been posted about two months ago. Losing everything had kind of turned me off of finishing this for a while. But with the new season of red vs blue out, I caught a second wind. Hopefully now I can work on this more often.
> 
> That being said, this chapter is not exactly how I wanted it. Rewriting this had been an experience to say the least, and I wasn't quite able to word everything the way I wanted. But the good news is that the next chapter shouldn't take as long, as I know exactly what I want to write and where I want it to end. Also, I'm in the mood to write it in the first place. Hopefully I'll get into a habit of writing these so I won't be posting two chapters a year, or else this will never get finished.


	7. Chapter 7

Tucker felt numb as he read those three little words. His ears rang annoyingly until all his senses grew dull to his surroundings. It was as if his whole room ceased to exist around him. Even Church’s bickering with Caboose had fallen on deaf ears. As Tucker’s gut felt like it was falling into a deep abyss, reminding him way too much of the initial drop of a vomit inducing rollercoaster, all of Tucker’s attention fell to the phone in his hands. It felt like it was burning an imprint into his palms.

He had to read that last message again. Just to be sure.

_Tucker, I’m David.—Wash, 6:57_

That couldn’t be true.

There was  _no fucking way_  that that could have been true. Instantly, Tucker’s initial reaction was to believe that this was some kind of joke that had turned sour way too quickly. He wasn’t laughing. And if Wash had been aiming for that, the dude had an awful sense of humor. Or he was a fucking dick.

But then how could Wash know about David? Tucker had never mentioned the man to Wash; hell, he’d been having a hard time getting in contact with his friend since late Friday Night. And there was no way that this was all a joke conceived by Church and the Red’s either. No one in Tucker’s friend group had Wash’s number, no way for them to get the other man in on this prank.

And even if they did, there was no way that his friends had any inclination of Tucker’s encounter with David in the restaurant’s bathroom. There was just no possible way.

So that meant . . .

That meant Wash was telling the truth. He was David. Wash was David—the guy Tucker  _fucking made out_ with in a _fucking public restroom **holy fuck** —,_ but how did Wash realize that  _that_ Tucker was him?

His mind was reeling. He felt dizzy and he was glad he was resting on his bed, back against the wall for support. But Tucker was also getting too angry way too fast.

_What the fuck.—Tucker, 6:59_

_That’s . . . not quite what I was expecting.—Wash, 7:00_

Then what the hell was Wash expecting from him?!

_We sucked tongue?!—Tucker, 7:01_

_And there it is. Yes, we did.—Wash, 7:02_

_What the fuck?!?!?!—Tucker, 7:03_

_What the fuck is your real name?!—Tucker, 7:03_

There was a pause in the conversation. Tucker sighed impatiently as he watched the texting icon on his phone spin, disappear, and then reappear moments later. He knew that Wash was stuck, trying to think of what to tell him without pissing him off or confusing him even more than he already had.

_Washington.—Wash, 7:05_

_Then why were you calling yourself fucking David?—Tucker, 7:06_

_Because it was David. It was David before Washington.—Wash, 7:08_

_That makes no fucking sense.—Tucker, 7:09_

_For most people, no it doesn’t.—Wash, 7:10_

_Did you get it changed?—Tucker, 7:10_

_Yes.—Wash, 7:12_

_Tucker, how much do you know about Project Freelancer?—Wash, 7:13_

That threw Tucker off for a second. Why on earth would Wash ask him about that? That was politics and shit, stuff he tried his best to avoid. Tucker only vaguely remembered the term from years ago, back when he and Church had been in high school. Since then it hasn’t even crossed his mind. But other than that, Tucker only knew of the Project from small news snippets that he had read online or heard on the television.

_Not much. Why?—Tucker, 7:15_

_Look it up on your computer.—Wash, 7:16_

Tucker did as he was asked. Setting his phone down on his bed, Tucker reached for the laptop sitting on top of his blankets. He opened it up, already typing in his password to get in. By the time that his background had loaded, Tucker had already opened up his internet browser. There, he typed in the two word phrase Wash, or  _fucking David_ , gave him.

As soon as he hit search, Tucker was met with hundreds of search results. Without thinking, Tucker clicked on the Wikipedia page at the top of this. He’d be able to get most of the gist of this Project Freelancer if he read the first little blurb at the top. As the page loaded, Tucker was met with the Project’s insignia, and below that was a picture of an intimidating old man with glasses and a graying beard.

He started reading.

_Project Freelancer is currently an ongoing experimental military operation with expressed interests of space exploration and colonization in the known galaxy. Supported and funded primarily by Charon Industries [1], Project Freelancer has managed to operate outside of the United Nations Space Command’s jurisdiction. The Project officially started back in 2006 when it began researching and developing the proper equipment and technology to allow survival in hazardous environments with little to no oxygen or gravity._

_The Project began drafting its members in the year 2027, recruiting mostly soldiers already in active service within the United States Army, the United States Navy, the Marines, and within the United Nations Space Command. To date the Project consists of 49 active “Freelancer” recruits handpicked by founder and head of the Project, Dr. L Church, all of whom are stationed at Fort Necessity outside of Lafayette, Indiana. According a statement given by Project Freelancer’s press division, it currently employs roughly 500 persons [2. Today, Project Freelancer has been met with criticism on its treatment of its recruits[citation needed]._

_In order to perform the difficult and morally questionable goals it has set for itself, Project Freelancer met with the United Nations Human Rights Council in 2010 to create a waiver for any and all recruited in the Project. The process of creating the waiver to allow any who signed it relinquish their human rights took four years [3]. In 2014, an agreement was met and the waiver, the Abandonment of Basic Entitlements, was declared official. Those who signed the Abandonment allowed the forfeit of their basic rights as long as Project Freelancer managed to care for their soldiers. The UNHRC concurrently created the Acquirement of Basic Entitlements in response to Project Freelancer’s demands, where upon a recruit could reacquire their basic human rights with the approval of a high ranking representative of the Project [4] [5]._

_Considered to be more of a privately funded experiment than a military operation, Project Freelancer has extensive ties with the . . ._

Tucker stopped reading that part, much more interested in the last two paragraphs he read. Quickly, Tucker scrolled down to the table of contents, where he searched for the topic of ‘Recruits’. He found it and clicked on the tab, and his browser instantly scrolled down to that part of the Wikipedia article.

_Project Freelancer began recruiting soldiers between the months of May and October of 2027. Of their 49 recruits, only 6 of them are from outside the United States and her armed forces, having been initially enlisted within the UNSC. In order to become a candidate for the Project, recruits needed an impressive track record, involvement in a specialized field, and a strong letter of recommendation from their superior officer. In most cases, many of the Project’s recruits were their squad’s leader. Upon an investigation performed by the Oversight Subcommittee_  _in the year 2029, it was learned that most recruits were the ages between 23 and 32 and had seen an average of seven years of service before being enlisted  [13]._

_All recruits currently active in Project Freelancer have signed the Abandonment of Basic Entitlements. The result of signing the waiver allowed the Project to strip each soldier of their birth name and past rank, their material possessions and any property they owned or had claims to. Each recruit has thus been given a new name assigned by Project Freelancer corresponding with an American State or Territory along with food and boarding in Fort Necessity. For as long as a recruit wishes to participate in the Project, their State Name will be recognized as their legal name. To date, a recruit’s State Name is used both privately and publicly by Project Freelancer’s officials [14]._

State Name.

Washington.

What the fuck had Wash gotten himself into? Tucker reread the first part of the article before delving into the rest on the page. The more that he read, the more his stomach gurgled and gnawed at him with an upset queasiness. Even back during his high school years, Tucker’s heard mutterings and small news stories about Project Freelancer, but he had never been interested enough to look it up. Hell, he only faintly remembered when the Project announced their recruiting efforts years ago.

But now that he knew that his friend was one of those soldiers, not to mention the person he ended up _making out_ with in a _public restroom_ , Tucker didn’t know what he thought of the Project. Closing his computer and setting it beside him, Tucker grabbed his phone. He sat there on his bed, rereading all of the text he had received during that Friday and after.

Tucker thought of that Friday night. The newcomers and how scary and big they had first looked when they first arrived. He pictured the blond man, the one with freckles and lively gray eyes that he sat next to. The man Tucker couldn’t even try to deny he was attracted to, not since that night. Even now he was having a difficult time processing the fact that  _that_  face apparently belonged to Wash. Somehow he wasn’t able to place his name with that face.

There suddenly felt like there was a large weight on his shoulders. And he felt a wave of heat rush to his cheeks in a mixture of confusion, attraction, and mortification.

Tucker finally typed out his response. He had to try to play this off the best that he could.

_Are you some kind of super soldier?—Tucker 7:36_

It was probably not the first question he should have asked Wash, but he didn’t know if he was able to talk about their small fling on Friday. Tucker just had to take one step at a time.

_Kind of. That’s what they’re planning on doing to us.—Wash, 7:38_

_Well shit. Here I am worrying about my own job when you’re some kind of top secret military project in the making.—Tucker, 7:39_

_I can’t believe you’re making jokes about this.—Wash, 7:40_

_Hey, I just found out you’re the dude I wanted to get it on with. Let me deal with this my way.—Tucker, 7:41_

_Too much information, Tucker.—Wash, 7:41_

_What? Take it as a compliment, you were a good kisser.—Tucker, 7:42_

_Ugh. Any other questions that’s not involved with getting in my pants?—Wash, 7:44_

Tucker thought for a few seconds. Really, he had been thrown a lot of information rather quickly. All he needed was time to process all this information, as well as his feelings. Except he did have one question that he needed to know.

_Did my friend Church know who you guys were?—Tucker, 7:47_

Another long pause.

_Yes.—Wash, 7:50_

_That motherfucker.—Tucker, 7:50_

Within an instant, Tucker was out of his room. He left behind his phone and laptop, completely forgotten in his fit of rage. Tucker quickly located his roommates in their small apartment, both of whom had congregated in the small bathroom, door ajar. Caboose was already in his pajamas and was hugging the doorway. The large man was looking inside at Church, who was grooming himself in the bathroom’s wall mounted mirror. Church held his chin in one hand, inspecting the fine dark chin hairs that were slowly becoming visible after going days without shaving.

Church saw Tucker approach. He didn’t notice how Tucker was seething, or how his right arm had tensed at the sight of him. He was mainly focused on his growing stubble. “Hey Tucker, I was thinking about growing a beard now that the semester ended. Or maybe a goatee? What do you thi—”

Before Church could finish that question, Tucker had swung at him with all the power he could muster. His fist hit Church dead in the face, and Tucker knew that that would leave a festering bruise for a least a week. Tucker’s hand screamed in pain as he shook it, but most of his attention was on Church’s prone form. The force of Tucker’s punch had successfully knocked Church into their bathtub, sending the shower curtain tumbling down over him. The metal pole and shower curtain then smacked into the back of his deserving head with a satisfying sound.

Church cried out in confusion and pain. Tucker took some pleasure out of that.

“What the  _fuck_ , Tucker?!” Church shouted as he tried his best to move the shower curtain out of the way. By the time that Church succeeded, he was met with the sight of a troubled Caboose and a still furious Tucker. Tucker balled his hands into fists, ready to punch his best friend a second time if he needed to. “The hell was that for?!”

“The hell was  _that for_?!” Tucker shouted back, his voice rising in volume until he was sure that even the Reds could hear him chewing Church out. Caboose tried to place a calming hand on Tucker’s shoulder and in response he shoved the big guy away. His breathing grew ragged. “You fucking knew you bastard, and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

“Okay, One! I still don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. And two!” Church listed off as he crawled out of the tub, holding his bruised face tenderly. The area around his left eye was already beginning to turn red and swell. By tomorrow that would turn into a nasty black eye. Tucker stared straight into Church’s cold, furious green eyes. “Do you really think it justified punching me?!”

“I hit you because you’re a fucking asshole and you deserved getting knocked on your ass for once.” Tucker pointed at Church, not backing down from the taller man. “And you knew who those people were Friday night.”

“Yeah, of course I know who they were! One of those ‘people’ was my girlfriend!” Church retorted, using air quotes over ‘people’.

 “So it didn’t ever cross your fucking mind to tell me that you knew who Wash was?!”

“Wash?” Church faltered, confused for a brief second. Tucker watched as Church’s mind tried to keep up with Tucker’s train of thought. And then realization hit his face like a second punch. He looked dumbstruck. “Wait . . . you mean _Washington?!_ You’re texting him? I thought you blocked him after he sent you that first text!”

“Fuck yeah I'm texting him!" Tucker snapped, offended at the thought that he would have stopped texting Wash. “You knew who Wash was this entire time and you didn’t tell me!”

"I didn’t think I had to tell you! How was I supposed to know that your texting buddy, who I didn’t even know you had, was joining us for drinks? Because I _didn’t know_ it was so fucking important! You probably don’t even know him that well. So again, why the  _fuck_  did you punch me?!”

"Because  _maybe_  I fucking made out with him!"

As soon as Tucker said it, he regretted ever opening his mouth. The tense air around the three of them grew deadly silent. Tucker really should learn to shut up whenever he was pissed off, or else he'd get himself into even more trouble. He watched as Church’s surprise overtook his anger. Church stared back at him with a blank look for a few seconds. Caboose, who was hopelessly confused about the whole ordeal, tentatively looked back and forth between his two friends but elected to remain quiet. No doubt he didn’t want this anger to be turned on him.

And then Church’s expression changed to a mixture between annoyance and frustration.

Church let out an angry sigh. “Tucker. You  _didn’t._ ”

“Oh, fuck off Church.”

“Hey, I’m not the one throwing punches around here. You’re the one who should fuck off, not me.” Church pointed out, his voice cold as ice. “You know you can be such a dick some—”

There was a loud knock on their front door, which brought the three men back into reality. Tucker instantly knew that their ruckus had probably caught the attention from their neighbors. He wouldn’t be surprised if the floors above and below theirs were giving the landlord a couple noise complaints. By tomorrow, Lopez would be banging on their door, threatening them to be quieter next time.

There was a second knock, one that was a bit more impatient, and Tucker shook his head. It was either Doc or Donut who wanted to check up on them. He didn’t want to deal with them right now.

Church closed his eyes for a long moment and took a deep breath in a failed attempt to compose himself. “Caboose, can you please get the door? And Tucker, I suggest you get the hell out of my sight until I calm down.”

“At least that’s something we can both agree on.” Tucker said under his breath as he turned away, although he was sure Church could hear his grumbles.

On his way to his room, Tucker heard Caboose ask, “Why is Tucker upset, Church?”

“Because he’s a dumbass, Caboose. Don’t ever be like him.” Church answered, his voice still full with anger.

Tucker, now depleted on most of his rage and energy, slunk back into his room and locked the door behind him. His room was dark and the air felt cool against his skin. Tucker shivered before flipping his light switch on. The sound of Doc’s voice somehow managed to make its way through the closed door, and Tucker groaned as he heard Church talking to the man. He tried his best to ignore the conversation. It grew easier to do when he found his headphones and put them on.

He found his phone and plugged his headphones in. Music started playing and Tucker turned the volume up until it was deafening. He fell down onto his bed and enjoyed the feeling of the comfy mattress top against his still tense back. He spent a few minutes just enjoying that feeling before he unlocked his phone and texted Wash back.

_So. We met.—Tucker, 8:04_

Wash’s response was quick, and Tucker wondered if the man had been waiting for him to return. If that was the case, then Tucker was thankful that the man didn’t ask him how he confronted Church. He had a feeling that Wash wouldn’t want to know that it had been physical.

_Yeah. We did.—Wash, 8:04_

_And we made out.—Tucker, 8:05_

_Of all the ways we could have fucked up our first meeting, it had to be that.—Tucker, 8:05_

At that, Tucker couldn’t help but chuckle in defeat. It wasn’t funny in the slightest, but it certainly felt like it was just another insult to injury over these past few days.

Wash took a few minutes to answer him.

_Look Tucker, if this is bothering you that much we can stop texting.—Wash, 8:09_

_No. You’re still my friend Wash. I still want to talk to you.—Tucker, 8:10_

_I just don’t know what to think about all this.—Tucker, 8:10_

_Well. We can ignore it if you want. Pretend like it never even happened.—Wash, 8:11_

_Yeah.—Tucker, 8:12_

When Tucker sent that text, it felt like his heart plummeted again. But this time it was in defeat. He didn’t want to ignore this. He didn’t want to ignore how their kiss had felt wonderful and how it made him feel like he was alive for the first time that night. He didn’t want to just pretend that none of that happened.

But it sounded like Wash did.

_Let’s do that.—Tucker, 8:13_

* * *

Life dragged on for Tucker. After spending the remainder of that day simmering alone with his anger, Tucker apologized to Church for punching him next morning. Church, who was a master at holding a grudge for far longer than anyone should, had only humphed angrily at Tucker in response. Tucker knew his best friend though; as soon as the black eye disappeared, Church would accept his apology. With perhaps a punch of his own to call it even.

Hell, it wasn’t the first physical fight the two friends had found themselves in, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Tucker started working at his new job a few days later. After being constantly broke for the past five months, Tucker had been overjoyed about having a paycheck in his pocket after every other week. But that didn’t mean that he enjoyed the job itself. Tucker’s mother had worked part time as a waitress for most of his childhood, and he remembered how she would come home completely drained and overly stressed. It seemed like he was following in her footsteps. But money was money, and the diner was only a block away from the apartment building. That just meant Tucker had less of a distance to travel before he passed out in his own bed, overtired from working double shifts and overtime.

Game night, the one saving grace Tucker still had in his life, still continued. It ended for a time when Christmas came along, when Caboose, Church, and the Reds all departed for home. Tucker had chosen to stay behind to make more money, and had also promised Donut that he would water his plants during the holidays. Because  _god forbid_  that Donut’s ferns and flowers would wilt from just ten days of neglect. Nevertheless, the apartment had been unusually quiet that week alone, allowing Tucker some much needed time to think and sort his life out.

Because at that point, it had proven to be that much of a mess.

Tucker and Wash still tried to text each other when they could. But as time moved on, Tucker couldn’t help but noticed that the time between messages had grown longer and longer. Each text he sent and received felt like a strained conversation. Like the awkward politeness a person used when meeting extended family during the holiday. And it was his fault for the most part.

Wash didn’t have to tell Tucker that the get together at  _Tasty’s_ had embarrassed him and had been very uncomfortable for him. That weekend of ignoring Tucker’s texts had been a clear enough indicator. Why else would Wash put off talking to him until Tucker’s curiosity pushed him to answer? Wash had probably been trying his hardest to suppress memories of their brief encounter. And Tucker’s texts probably hadn’t helped him in the slightest.

The guilt Tucker got from that was choking him.

He never wanted to make Wash uncomfortable. It made what they did together that night feel selfish and embarrassing. Tucker  _had_ wanted to get laid that night, and now he couldn’t help but doubt that maybe he had forced himself on David. Or Wash. Or _whatever_. Wash probably hadn’t even enjoyed it. Every time he thought about it like that, Tucker felt worse of himself. He started dreading every moment his phone vibrated, warning him that he had received a new message. So Tucker had gotten into the habit of ignoring his phone until what felt like the last possible moment.

Eventually Tucker realized he was trying to distance himself from Wash. He was trying to solve this problem the only way he really knew how: ignore it until it went away. Which included Wash, much to Tucker’s frustration. If Tucker continued on with this trend, he was certain he’d lose contact with Wash altogether.

But it seemed that Wash had different plans.

It was currently a late Friday evening in the second week of January, and Tucker was slowly working through his last shift at the tiny old fashioned diner. A heavy snow shower had popped out of thin air a few hours ago, and the usual dinner traffic the diner faced was nowhere to be seen. The place was completely devoid of customers, and the only staff on hand was Tucker himself and two others.

Those who had been scheduled to take the late shift had been the fry cook, who had taken a smoke break out in the back alley around forty minutes ago and hadn’t been back since, and the senior manager. And the manager, a caring but overworked middle aged woman named Sally, would rather be at home tending to her sick children than tending to the diner’s records and accounts. With the three of them (or more likely two of them at this point) running the deserted place, Tucker knew it would be painfully slow for the rest of the night.

Tucker himself was chilling at one of the empty booths, a small cup of black coffee in his hands. It would keep him up for the rest of the night, but when his manager had given it to him free of charge, Tucker knew it would be impolite to refuse it. Tucker sipped at the scorching hot black coffee occasionally and stared down at the white table top, finally resting his tired feet after a somewhat hectic day. His shift ended in the next half hour, and the three employees had decided to close shop early. They all deserved to head home early for the night before the rest of the snow storm hit Chicago.

That was good news then, because Grif and Simmons had been talking about going to the cinemas to see a newly released movie, and had extended an invitation towards him. If the diner closed early, then Tucker had just enough time to run home for a quick change of clothes and catch a bus to meet up with the two. Tucker pulled out his phone, remembering that he should probably tell them he was free for the night. 

Tucker quickly unlocked his phone. He typed out a message for Grif and Simmons as he took another hesitant sip of coffee.

_Good news guys. I’m leaving work early so I’ll be able to—_

His phone buzzed in his hands midsentence. Tucker paused and watched as a small notification popped onto his screen. He felt his stomach drop from sheer habit as he read the name on the text. Washington. Tucker let out a small, defeated groan as he set down his cup of coffee and opened up the new message.

_Can we talk?—Wash, 7:25_

Talk? Tucker assumed that the man had meant he wanted to call Tucker, which was something that they had never done before.

Tucker sighed with a shake of his head and started typing a response. His fingers moved sluggishly against his phone’s screen.

_Can’t. I have work until 8. Text me then.—Tucker, 7:26_

_Tucker, I really think we should talk. Like actually talk.—Wash, 7:27_

Well, okay then. Whatever was bothering Wash, it was making him persistent. Tucker frowned slightly but then called out for his manager.

“Sally, I need to make a quick call!”

“Go ahead, sweetie! It doesn’t look like we’re getting another customer tonight.” Sally answered, calling Tucker the nickname she had given him on the first day he started job. The woman’s words sounding muffled by the accounting books she was hunched over. Man, Tucker’s back started to ache just by looking at her bad posture. “And if someone stops in, I’ll get them started for you.”

“Thanks Sally.” Tucker said as he typed a quick message to Wash. Phone calls were allowed at the work place, but you either had to do them outside or in the kitchen, and Tucker hated the smell of burnt food that permanently enveloped that small room. Tucker grabbed his coat from the back and quickly put it on, all the while holding onto his phone.

_We can talk now. Just give me a sec.—Tucker 7:29_

He received no response from Wash, but for some reason he knew that the man had gotten his text. As Tucker finished zipping himself up to brave the chilly weather outside, he heard the front door to the old diner open up. It was followed by the jingle of the silver Christmas bells still taped onto the upper half of the door, the only decoration still standing after the holiday season ended. Someone would put it down eventually. Maybe Tucker would do it when he started his next shift tomorrow.

Tucker looked up and away from his coat, slightly irritated at his luck. Of  _fucking_  course a customer was coming in right after he texted Wash. Now Tucker had to seat them before he could make his call. Hopefully Wash wasn’t an impatient man. Tucker prepped himself up and worked up a smile. He turned back into the front of the diner, hand already unzipping his coat off and grabbed a few menus, ready to give the customer his usual introduction.

But he stopped right in his tracks.

As Tucker entered the front room, he was met with the sight of David, who was looking right at Tucker almost sheepishly with hunched shoulders and a hesitant, nervous smile. Tucker could feel his face freeze with an expression of shock and he was at a loss for words. When Wash had said they needed to talk, Tucker thought it would have been safely over the phone. Not face to face. For some reason he could feel himself begin to panic.

David—no,  _not_  David. Wash looked different than what he remembered. But that was probably because he had been thoroughly drunk at the time, and Drunk Tucker had difficulty when it came to remembering small details. Wash was still as tall as ever, but Tucker hadn’t remembered how the man had carried himself like he thought he was a foot shorter than he was. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were covered with small freckles that had somehow escaped Tucker’s memories.

Tucker’s mind briefly questioned whether those freckles were anywhere else on the man’s body before he forced himself to abandon that train of thought completely.Instead, Tucker quickly gazed into Wash’s eyes. They were a warm grey which were hugged by blond, creased eyebrows. Wash was worried, Tucker realized.

“Do you still want to talk?” Wash asked once he recognized that Tucker was stuck on staring at him. His voice surprised Tucker, who hadn’t expected Wash to sound like that. Even if he had heard ‘David’ speak before.

“Wash.” Tucker said with a small cough to clear his throat. If felt weird to say that name aloud, and the way it rolled off of his tongue made it sound like his voice had cracked. Tucker coughed again and then put the menus in his hand down on an open table. He crossed his arms. Tucker could feel himself frowning in confusion, and slight irritation for being caught off guard. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Like I said. I think we should talk. Face to face.” Wash said with a hesitant nod of his head before he brushed large fluffy snowflakes out of his wind tossed blond hair. He hunched his shoulders even more, as if the small diner was closing in on him and he was trying his best to compensate.  _Sheesh_ , for someone who looked like he was foot taller than Tucker, Wash was acting like Tucker was the bigger man. “I thought you deserved that much, Tucker.”

“No, I mean like ‘here’. How did you get here, in the middle of Chicago? I thought you weren’t allowed off base for long periods of time.” Tucker pointed out. He paused and thought for a brief second. “And how did you know where I work? That’s kind of creepy, dude.”

“I uh… I asked Tex to get your address. You weren’t there, but your neighbor across the hall told me to head down here.”

“Tex?”

“Oh, sorry. Beth. Your roommate Church is her boyfriend.”

“And… you thought showing up at my apartment wouldn’t be as creepy as showing up at my work?” Tucker snapped defensively. Part of Tucker couldn’t believe this, or Wash for that matter. He knew he should just shut up, but Tucker wasn’t really in the mood to be rational right now. He rolled his eyes before continuing. " _Okay then.”_

“Tucker.” Wash said, his tone of voice growing serious.

Tucker instantly dropped his sour attitude and looked straight into Wash's eyes, and he was now frowning sadly. Wash nervously played with his hands before finally shoving them in his grey coat’s pockets. It was then that Tucker realized that this must be just as hard for Wash as it was for him. But at least Wash had enough confidence to make the first step, and Tucker was doing nothing but blowing steam at him.

“Look, I just want to sort this . . . this  _thing_  out between us. We can’t pretend like  _Tasty’s_ never happened. I want to set things right, but you’ve been ignoring my texts lately. If . . . if you don’t want to talk, I can go—”

“Don’t.” Tucker said quickly. That obviously surprised Wash, who blinked before giving the other man a blank look, and Tucker let out a sigh. “You’re right, Wash. We need to talk. I’m just really,  _really_  frustrated right now; I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I showed up like this without telling you. I should have sent you a text earlier.”

“Hey, it’s like you said, I probably would have ignored it anyway. Because I’m a  _fucking_  dumbass.”

Wash seemed to relax at that, and the two were left standing there in silence. Tucker waited for Wash to make the first move yet again, because he had no fucking clue what to do now. A few more seconds passed before Wash started looking around the tiny diner, taking the place in.

“So, are you still serving customers?” Wash asked as he turned back to look at Tucker, smiling softly and hesitantly. “Or are you closing soon?”

That threw Tucker through a small loop, but he nodded anyways. “Uh . . . yeah. We’re still open for a while. What do you want?”

“Anything sweet? I haven’t had desert for months.” Wash said, and Tucker believed him.

“Yeah, we’ve got a piece of chocolate fudge cake left over from today. It might be a bit dry now, though.” Tucker answered. Wash shrugged at that, showing Tucker that he wouldn’t mind. Tucker shrugged back and then made his way towards the kitchen. “Take a seat Wash, I’ll be back.”

“I’ll get it for you sweetie. Just sit down.” Sally said as she suddenly stood up from her seat. Tucker had forgotten that the woman had been in the same room as them, and he jumped slightly at her sudden and unexpected intrusion. Did she hear that whole confrontation between him and Wash? Tucker seriously hoped not. “It sounds like you’re having a marital dispute anyways.”

A marital dispute? God, he hoped it didn’t sound like that. Tucker turned to give Wash a disbelieving look, and saw that he was just as embarrassed as he felt. Tucker shook his head but slid in the booth across from Wash nonetheless.

Now that the two of them were finally sitting down, Tucker was able to calm down a bit from the small panic attack he had gotten earlier. The two waited for Sally to return in almost complete silence. Tucker spent that time tapping his fingers against the tabletop impatiently, and Wash seemed to be very interested in his own hands and the napkin he was playing with. At least it seemed Wash was just as nervous as Tucker was about the oncoming conversation. That was a somewhat comforting thought.

Thankfully Sally arrived just in time to save the two from spending an eternity in awkward silence together. She placed the plate of chocolate cake in front of Wash and handed him a fork. Wash gave the older woman a hushed thank you and a sweet smile before taking a hesitant bite. As Wash took another bite out of his food, Tucker finally forced himself to speak up.

“So. You never did answer me about how and why you’re in Chicago.” Tucker said, hoping that that would start the conversation rolling again. "You told me you didn't get leave often."

Wash took another quick bite before answering. He set the fork down onto the tabletop. “I don’t think you would know this, but Project Freelancer was under investigation for past few months. Like, under heavy investigation. The Project heads tried to keep it quiet around the recruits as much as possible; I just found out about it a couple weeks ago. Did you hear about the press statement the Project gave out around Christmas?”

Tucker nodded, but remained silent.

He had to be truthful, after initially finding out about Wash’s involvement with the mysterious, independent military program dubbed Project Freelancer, Tucker had tried to do some research on it. Even if he hadn’t been texting Wash, he had tried to be as knowledgeable about the Project as much as a civilian could be. What he had read about Project Freelancer had been a bit unsettling, and he certainly understood why some people held some open resentment against it.

But researching the Project also meant he had been up to date when the press statement had been released.

“Uh, something about revisions for personnel protocols or a new code of conduct." Tucker said. He then admitted. "I didn't really understand most of it. There were too many big words being thrown around."

Wash nodded his head in understanding. "Yeah, the Director and Councilor of the Project worded it so weirdly that I don't think anybody could understand it clearly. But basically, the UN isn't happy about how my higher ups are treating me and the other recruits. In compensation, the Project is going to allow Freelancers weekly leave to relieve pent up stress, physical or mental."

"You've got weekends off now." Tucker realized.

"Bingo." Wash said, nodding his head as he pointed his fork at Tucker, sharing eye contact briefly.  He then smiled softly. "I spent last weekend with my parents. They drove all the way to Indiana just to spend two days with me. I haven't seen them in years."

Tucker knew the feeling. He hadn’t seen his own parents in a long time as well. His older sisters even longer. Tucker missed his own family, and he could relate to that.

But they were getting a bit off topic.

“So, you decided to spend your next weekend off with me?” Tucker had to ask. That made him feel kind of important, wanted. “I mean, yeah it’s great to see you, don’t get me wrong. But I can think of a whole lot of other stuff you could do with your free time.”

“I  _wanted_  to see you, Tucker.” Wash said bluntly. “You’re my friend, and I didn’t want to lose you as one. Which is one reason why we need to talk about . . . things . . .”

Well, here comes the embarrassing part about meeting up. Tuck bit his bottom lip before running a hand through his curly hair. He then propped his elbows onto the table, entwined his fingers together, and rested his hands against his mouth gently. Wash finished the last few bites of the chocolate cake and then pushed it aside. He paused for a second, most likely trying to sort out his own thoughts.

“I’m not . . . mad about what happened that night. Or embarrassed. I was confused. I have to admit, I’m not really the most coherent person when I’m drunk. And I know we didn’t even really do anything big. But I was confused.” Wash said slowly and carefully, making sure his grey eyes never left Tucker’s brown ones. As he spoke, he emphasized his words with his left hand, but then let it drop into his lap as he continued. “I’m still confused. Am I the only one—”

“No. You’re not.”

Tucker interrupted him quickly. He just wanted to get that out there; out of all of the emotions and feelings that had been plaguing Tucker these few weeks, confusion was on the top. What was Wash to him? A friend? A potential partner? A stranger?  Somehow the man sitting across of him was all three of those things. Each time he thought about it like that, his heart would flip flop helplessly in uncertainty. Tucker knew that sorting this out was going to be a bitch.

“I’m probably just as confused as you are, Wash.” Tucker muttered, bringing his hands back down in front of him.

“Well, that’s a relief to hear.” Wash sighed, and his body visibly relaxed from the released stress. Literally. Tucker hadn’t noticed how tense Wash had been just sitting there, and the man was now leaning back in the booth, his blond head resting against the cold glass window. “I thought I scared you off when I told you who I was. I probably should have told you at Tasty’s when I found out.”

“Yeah. You should have.” Tucker said. He watched as Wash frowned in aggravation for a fleeting second, but then it was dropped and replaced with somber acknowledgment. Tucker would have poked more at the man, but then he saw the small blush that started to spread over Wash’s face and he decided to let it drop. “And I should have answered your texts, so we’re both stupid inconsiderate assholes.”

“You can say that again.” Wash muttered under his breath, his cheeks still rosy from a mixture of what Tucker thought may have been frustration and embarrassment.

The conversation lulled to a stop. Another awkward silence surrounded the two for a couple minutes. Tucker heard Sally moving around in the kitchen, probably making sure that everything back there was cold and shut off. He took a quick look at his watch and saw that it was almost 8:45. It was almost closing time. And he and Wash hadn’t really said anything important yet.

"So, what am I to you?” Tucker asked, finally taking the first step.

That caught Wash off guard for a second, and he straightened back into his seat as frowned in bewilderment. The man’s eyebrows furrowed together, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with light as his brain muddled over those words. It was as if he hadn’t heard Tucker’s words clearly at all.

"Huh?" Wash said, confirming Tucker's assumptions.

“I said, what am I to you? Are we going to be just friends, or . . ?” Tucker stated again, stopping as he tried to think of the right term. “Or something more?”

Wash thought for a few seconds, pondering over Tucker’s question. And then he sighed. “I don’t know.”

I don’t know. Tucker let out a deep breath. Somehow that was better than a definite no. At least it was good to know that whatever attraction he felt was mutual. The horrible feeling in his gut that he had been ignoring for these past few weeks instantly disappeared with those three words, and Tucker felt incredibly better. Tucker was relieved to hear that, but he didn’t relax completely.

“What now, then?” Tucker asked.

Another long pause as Wash thought.

“Let’s just see where the road takes us for now.” Wash said, speaking metaphorically. His gaze was now focused outside as he watched the passing pedestrians and traffic. Wash bent forward towards the window and blew out a stream of hot air, and then made a small smiley face with his fingers absentmindedly as he continued. “We can stay friends for now. But maybe, once we get to know each other better . . . maybe we can be something more.”

Something more. Tucker could definitely work on that.

Sally was no doing her best to catch their attention without really interrupting the two of them. Tucker glanced at her and saw that the woman was already in her heavy winter coat, her purse disappearing under her armpit, and the keys to the diner already in her hands. Tucker nodded to her and then returned his attention to Wash.

“Come on, if you want to spend the rest of the night with me, we can do it in my apartment.”

Wash nodded in agreement, smiling happily to himself. Wash waited as Tucker picked up his plate and put it in the sink for his first shift tomorrow. And then the three exited the small place, with Sally locking it up behind her. The cold, harsh wind had picked up in the past hour, but at least it wasn’t snowing too hard at the moment. Tucker was quick to tug his hat on over his curls and then he rubbed his hands together. Wash just tugged his own coat tighter to his body, and then he looked down at Tucker expectantly.

“Night, Sally.” Tucker called out quickly as the woman waved goodbye and headed down the opposite side of the street.

The two hurried down the block, making small talk that felt relatively easy. Just like their text conversations. If Tucker was completely honest to himself, this felt relatively . . . normal.

Which was another huge relief.

By the time that Wash and Tucker had made it to the latter’s apartment building, they were already deep in conversation.

“So let me get this straight.” Tucker said slowly as he opened up the front door to the lobby and held it open for Wash. He caught sight of Lopez in the far corner and nodded to the custodian. Wash hurried in and Tucker closed the door quickly before more cold air could rush in. “You have absolutely _nothing_ recreational to do at your home base. Not even a game console?”

“Oh we do have one, but just one.” Wash said as he ruffled his hair and loosened his coat. The hot air from the building’s heating system was hitting the two of them hard, and Tucker was beginning to sweat. As Wash continued, Tucker led him towards the nearest stairwell. “As you can imagine, it’s quite popular with us recruits. All 49 of us.”

“Ouch. So what do you do for fun when you’re not texting me?”

“Enjoy the booze Wyoming smuggles in for us. Play some card games. Watch TV or whatever movie’s playing on Demand.” Wash supplemented as the two friends started walking up the stairs, with Wash following Tucker’s lead.

“Dude, your life sounds really fucking boring.” Tucker said, turning to face Wash as he paused in his steps.

“I think you told me that a month ago.” Wash pointed out, raising a single eyebrow as he eyed Tucker.

“But you’re not denying it?”

Wash answered a second too slow, and his tone of voice didn’t help prove his point. “It’s not . . . _all_ that bad.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Wash.”

“So I’ve been told.” The man admitted under his breath, but Tucker heard him. Tucker smirked at that and shook his head, and then began walking up the stairs again. Two more flights of stairs to go and then he was home free. “Okay, I admit it does get a little boring after doing the same thing for three years. But what do you all the time that’s so fun?”

“What do I do? When we're not out in the city, I play games with the guys. We kind of eat, sleep, and breathe video games Wash.” Tucker said over the shoulder as the two men hugged the side of the stairs. He waited to continue as a group of people rushed down the stairs, excited to spend their Friday night on the town and not in their apartments. Tucker waited for Wash to rejoin him by his side before moving forward. He smiled as he added. “It’s a lifestyle.”

“That doesn’t really sound all that healthy.” Wash retorted. “You should probably look for a better diet.”

Tucker stopped in his tracks and looked at Wash, almost insulted at the other man’s words. But then he saw Wash’s eyes, how they seemed to twinkle with wit, and then he spotted the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Wash had been cracking a joke. A really bad joke.

“One that consists of movies and popcorn.” Wash added, his smirk breaking into a grin as he took in Tucker’s expression, which must have had been pretty incredulous. “That’s a bit more balanced.”

Instantly Tucker knew that Wash had a sense of humor so dry that the Mojave Desert paled in comparison. Wash’s grin grew as he watched the realization dawn on Tucker’s face, and he let out a mirthful laugh. Tucker couldn’t help but grin back, and he shoved his elbow into Wash's side, who quickly returned the favor with another heartful chuckle. Fuck, how could a grown man Wash’s size and age look so adorable? Already Tucker could feel heat rush up to his cheeks, and he tried his best to hide his own goofy grin and flushing face behind his thick scarf.

 He knew he was in trouble, right then and there.

“Oh my god, that was so horrible. You’re going to fit right in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the halfway mark of the story. Perhaps another set of chapters will be added on to the end if its needed, but for plot's sake I consider this the halfway point. Things will be picking up speed now, and while Tuckington will still be a major focal point, other things will start coming into play. 
> 
> This chapter is complete, but for the most part unedited, as my computer is being super buggy and I don't want to risk losing the whole chapter being lost. I will edit it more heavily when I get the chance.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey Wash!”

South’s voice crackled over his helmet’s radio. Wash flinched at the over exuberance in the woman’s words, and he brought his electrically charged pugil stick closer to his armored chest on reflex. His hold on the stick tightened as he swiveled around to take in the Training room.  In front of him, cement pillars and barriers limited his vision and had given the Twins all the cover they needed to plan their assault on Wash and his partner. Even Connie had disappeared from his sight, hiding from who knows where. 

But this left him practically defenseless and terribly confused to their whereabouts.

The whole room was like a goddamn maze. And it seemed like Wash was the only one who was helplessly lost inside of it. He cursed his bad luck under his breath.

“Tag, you’re it!” South called out, catching his attention again. Wash could hear her devilish grin in her tone of voice.

Out of nowhere, a purple armored figure jumped off of the barrier to Wash’s right, surprising him. They lunged out of their landing; the directory of their own pugil stick was aimed towards his side. Wash’s reaction time was quick, however, and he blocked the strike effortlessly. There was the sound of metal clashing angrily against metal, and the electricity coursing through the ends of both sticks hissed with barely contained energy. Wash held the block, pushing against the other Freelancer with an equal amount of force, and stared directly into their visor.

As he stared into the visor, Wash realized that the purple armor was a shade too dark, too rich, to be South. Wash couldn’t help but gasp in anxious surprise as he forced North off of him. The force Wash used surprised North and the man was sent back into a cement slab. North let out an _oof_  from the harsh impact, and the man’s hold on his pugil stick lessened. North was shaking his head as if he had banged it pretty hard against the barrier, but Wash knew he didn’t do any real damage.

Wash took his attention off of North and twisted around just in time to catch South sprinting towards him. Wash frowned in determination and swung his stick towards the woman, who easily dodged it as she ducked underneath and then pushed herself into a jump. She was like a viper, her pugil stick acting as a set of fangs ready to strike her prey. South circled around Wash’s prone form, using a leg to knock Wash off balance for the opening she needed. 

Wash tried his best to regain his balance, but he was quickly met with a jolt of electricity stinging him in his upper back. Wash cried out in pain as he felt his legs begin to lock up on him, and he groaned as he brought his pugil stick around to knock South away. The woman took a few steps to avoid his big swing, and Wash took that opening. He fell into a barrier and propped his side against it as South came for him, eager for a second strike. 

Wash pushed off of the barrier just in the nick of time, and he was able to get a side sweep at South. The end of his pugil stick made hard contact with South’s right shoulder, and the woman grunted from not only being shocked violently, but from the force of Wash’s swing.

“Ouch. That stings like a mother fucker.” South uttered under her ragged breath. She grabbed her shoulder and tried her best to rub the muscles in between the  _Mjolnir_  armor’s thick plating, hoping to relieve some of the pain. She wasn’t meeting with much success. “They pack a hell of a punch, don’t they Wash?”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Wash coined in, rolling his shoulder blades to ease some of the achiness where South had struck him.  

There was a small flash of purple in the corner of Wash’s eye. With Wash distracted by his sister, North had taken the opportunity to attack. Wash was able to dodge North’s initial lung, the end of the pugil stick buzzed by Wash’s ear as it barely missed his helmet, but North landed a hit as he swung the weapon in an arch. This time Wash had been whacked by his left hip, and he cried out again as the electricity seemingly paralyzed his entire leg, leaving it numb to the world.

“ _Agh!_ ” Wash grasped at his leg, feeling the metal armor under his gloved fingers. It did nothing to soothe the pain the pugil stick caused and Wash whacked the stick away from him with his hand.

Fortunately, North went easy on him and let Wash limp away after a few seconds had passed. The other man brought one end of his pugil stick down on the ground, and it crackled and hissed angrily from being smacked against the floor. North went over to South, and placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s uninjured shoulder. Wash could hear North’s soft, kind words meant only for his younger sister’s ears, but his own attention was on the noticeable lack of  _his_ partner. 

Where the hell was Connie? It was like she just disappeared.

“This isn’t fair, Carolina. Call off the match.” North said over the radio, addressing their squad leader. “We’re killing Wash over here.”

Wash could hear Carolina sigh impatiently over the radio, but she seemed to agree nonetheless. 

“Alright, alright. That’s a match people.” Carolina’s voice ordered. “Meet up by the locker rooms before we switch teams.”

Wash groaned and dropped his pugil stick. It rolled against the floor until it rested against a barrier. Wash limped in the direction towards Carolina and his other squad mates, with South and North joining him and following his slow pace. Feeling slowly returned to Wash’s left leg, but it felt like the limb was on fire. Over the past month, he had really grown to hate practicing with the pugil sticks. He hated it more than practicing with knives.

South was still holding onto her shoulder as she walked, but she turned her head towards Wash and then nudged him gently. Wash glanced at her and noticed that she was watching him, but he was more focused on moving forward in a straight line.

“Hey. Sorry about getting you in the back. I know it's kind of a dick move.” South said, nudging Wash again just in case she didn’t have his attention. She sounded concerned, knowing full well that sometimes she got ahead of herself during sparing sessions.

Wash nudged her back before answering. “Don’t worry about it. Doesn’t really hurt that much anyway.”

“Good, I was afraid that I broke you in half.” South said with a small nod of her head. “Now I can stop going easy on you and let you really have it.”

“Oh . . . great . . .” He muttered sarcastically, knowing full well that the woman meant what she said. He’d have to watch his back next week when they came back from leave, or else South would pull him into a world of pain,  _Mjolnir_  armor be damned. Hopefully next week they’d switch to firearms practice and hand to hand combat. He continued, grumbling under his breath. “I can’t wait for Monday.”

Wash could practically see South’s grin in her posture, and she roughly patted his shoulder before jogging towards the locker room. Up ahead, Wash could see Carolina’s teal colored armor and York’s legs, as the man was more than likely spending his free time lying on the ground after a hard match against Maine and Tex. By the time both Wash and North joined their fellow Freelancers, he noticed that Connie was among them, sulking on the far corner beside a seated Maine, her helmet off. Judging by the look on her face she was irritated, but Wash had no idea why.

He turned his attention towards Carolina, who was standing next to the monitors mounted on the wall beside the locker room’s doors. It was one of the newest editions to the Training Room, put there almost a month ago during the same weekend Wash went to sort things out with Tucker. On the screens, Wash could see camera feeds from multiple viewpoints of the maze of barricades. Carolina had been watching their match, with most definitely attentive eyes.

And above the monitors, the other big addition to the Training Room: the Leader Board. Wash couldn’t help but glance up at it as he joined the others, only slightly self-conscious of the order of names, and where his was currently placed.

Carolina turned to look at both North and South, bringing Wash’s attention back onto his squad leader. She let out a heavy sigh, which sounded stressed over the short range radio. If Wash didn’t know any better he would say that she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Which could have been a possibility. 

“Nice work you two. If this had been a two on one match, it would have been yours. South, that suit’s become your second skin.” Carolina said, congratulating the twins for yet another victory. She then turned her attention to Wash, and he heard her take in a deep breath. Then she tilted her head to Connie. Connie plainly ignored her squad leader’s gaze. “That being said . . . Wash, you did a good job of standing your ground when your partner threw you to the wolves. You need to work on your reflexes, but I’d fault that to the limited maneuverability of your suit. Work on it by yourself in your free time and I think you’ll learn how to compensate for it.”

There was a small pause.

“Connie.”

The woman flinched at Carolina’s cold, disapproving tone of voice. Nonetheless she kept her brown eyes trained at the exit sign on the far side of the room, unwilling to look at Carolina’s eyes, or rather Carolina’s helmet. Connie’s hold on her own helmet visibly tightened. Wash saw how Connie’s frown twitched with newly kindled anger. How her whole body was tense, coiled like a spring ready and eager to release.

“What part of a  _two on two_  practice match do you not understand?! This is the second time this week you’ve abandoned Wash to do only God knows what.” The woman was relentless with her chosen words. "You've been slacking off for the past week, and I've let it slide. But clearly that was a mistake, because  _this_  is unacceptable!"

Carolina only paused to turn towards the monitors; her fingers flying over the surface effortlessly. On the screen, Wash watched as recorded footage of their fight was rewound. There, he could see how he had tried to fend off both Dakotas as best as he could. But there was no trace of Connie on all six screens. The recording finally halted into place, and then Carolina pointed to Monitor 4, zooming in where a blurry image of Connie hid behind a cement pillar.

But in the next frame, she was gone. It was as if she hadn’t even been there.

“You found a blind spot for all of the cameras, Agent Connecticut. And you kept in that spot for five whole minutes while your partner got his ass handed to him.” Carolina continued to press, her voice angry and scornful at the same time. “Now I don’t know if you’ve suddenly gotten a case of the cold feet, but you doing  _absolutely nothing_  isn’t helping Wash,  _or_  the whole team.”

A moment of silence passed as Carolina waited for Connie to defend herself. She was met with stiff silence.

“Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”

Something snapped in Connie as Carolina's words registered. Wash saw it in her eyes first, and then in the angry twitch of an eyebrow. His partner scowled and then threw her helmet to the ground before stomping away towards the exit. All of Squad Alpha watched as Connie forced both doors open in her fury and then stormed down the hall to who knows where. As the doors crashed and locked back into place, Connie’s helmet was still rattling against the floor.

Wash quietly went over and picked it up. He stared into the amber colored eye holes before turning his attention to the remaining members of the squad. They stood in complete silence, awestruck by Connie's display of disobedience and apparent immaturity. Even Carolina had been surprised, as she was left both completely speechless and dumbfounded in a mixture that didn't suit her.

"Shit. Can she do that? Just leave during the middle of practice?" York was the first one to speak, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled around the whole team. As he got up from his seat on the ground, he quickly looked to his fellow team mates, searching for answers none of them really had.

It was Tex who answered him with the shake of her helmet. "I don't think so. Not without big repercussions."

"Do you want me to go after her, Boss?" Wash turned his attention to Carolina. He hugged Connie's helmet close to him awkwardly. When he saw Carolina begin to shake her head is disapproval, he continued. Concern over his friend and partner was thick in his voice. "Maybe I can get her to calm down and—"

"No. Let her face her own demons alone." Carolina said coldly, which surprised Wash. Squad Alpha's leader was usually incredibly level headed, but it seemed that Connie's act of angry defiance and refusal to obey orders had ruffled some of her feathers.

"Boss, she's clearly not thinking straight. Just let me talk to her. I can get her to calm down."

"I said  _no_ , Wash. That's an order!" Carolina snapped, surprising the younger Freelancer so much that he actually jumped from her sharp words. Her voice seemingly rang through his helmet's radio, ingraining itself into Wash's brain. Wash stood there frozen into place. From where he was standing and the way that her head was tilted downwards, Carolina's helmet gave her a menacing appearance. "Connie disobeyed a direct order issued by her commanding officer. I won't have you show the same disrespect she just showed me. You're staying here until we're done for the day."

With those words Wash frowned, clenching his jaw tightly. He didn't like this. Carolina always had bit of a temper, but she had never directed it towards them like this. Not wanting to be on the receiving end of it any longer, Wash looked towards Maine. Aside from Wash, he was Connie's closest friend, and the three of them had stuck together since the beginning. The trio always helped each other out, no matter what. Wash kept his eyes on Maine's helmet, hoping that the big guy knew what he was asking of him.

Maine stood there motionless, almost like a statue, as he thought methodically. And then Maine slowly but stiffly shook his head in reluctant disapproval. Something in Wash broke as he saw his friend shake his head, and he let out a ragged sigh in defeat.

"Okay, Carolina. I'll stay here." Wash winced at how dejected he sounded.

Carolina continued to stare down at him for a few seconds, as if deciding whether she trusted his words of commitment. Finally, her shoulders relaxed, and it felt like the entire Training Room had taken a deep sigh of relief. Carolina turned towards the monitors, starting up a new recording for the next round. As she did so, Wash went to the nearest bench and sat down, Connie's helmet seated in his lap. He stared at it, almost as if he was in a trance.

"The Councilor better not catch wind of this."  York muttered under his breath, his words almost a whisper. He got up from his position on the floor and started to stretch his back muscles and cracked his knuckles in preparation. He would be in the next match, along with Carolina against Tex and Maine.  

"I'm going to have to report this incident to him, York."

Wash's head snapped to look at Carolina, feeling like someone had just knocked the wind out of him. Wash stammered as he spoke. "What?! You- you can't do that!"

"Connie can make her own decisions, Wash." South muttered as she took of her helmet and ran a hand through her sweaty blond hair. At first, her tone sounded amused, but a quick glance at her and Wash saw how serious she looked. "She doesn't need you to look after her. She's not even your girlfriend anymore, so I don't understand why—."

"Not now, South." Wash snapped at the woman, turning to give the woman a glare she couldn't see. "Look if you report Connie, she's going to lose every advantage given to her."

"She did this to herself, Wash." Tex interjected, her tone impatient. "She can either play by the rules, or get left behind. It's her choice." 

"Tex is right." Carolina said, probably for the first time since the two women met each other. She finished playing with the monitors before returning her attention to the rest of Squad Alpha. "Connie either needs to shape up or face the consequences. I need to tell both the Director and the Councilor about this. I won't baby her . . . or you for that matter, Wash."

"I never expected you to." Wash said roughly. An angry, frustrated tear leaked out of the corner of one of his eyes.

"Good. Now we can get back to practice." Carolina said, swiftly changing gears. The anger or resentment she had held from Connie's actions had seemingly released from her shoulders, and her tone of voice had lightened up a bit. "North, can you run the camera feeds for the next round?"

"Can do, Carolina." North answered her, slowly and tentatively making his way towards the monitors.

The tense air around the group of Freelancers should have dispersed. But it did not. For a long second the whole squad did not move, afraid that despite the fact that the argument was over, they would cause the situation to descend into complete chaos. But then Carolina started to make her way into the maze of barricades, taking the negative energy with her. This left the others to stare at each other awkwardly, unsure of what to think.

Wash saw York shake his head slightly in shock, muttering a small “unbelievable” under his breath, before he followed his partner and girlfriend. Wash turned towards the bench, waiting as Maine and Tex got up from their seats before sliding down onto it. He placed Connie's helmet back on his lap, resting his palms on the sides where the ears should have been. Before the big guy left, Maine placed what must have been a reassuring hand on Wash's shoulder, but it did nothing to soothe the younger man's anxious thoughts. 

"She'll be okay." Maine said softly.

Wash sighed, knowing that he sounded unconvinced. "Yeah, I hope so."

Maine gave him a stiff mod before jogging to catch up with Tex. Tex was already in position, her pugil stick in hand and twirling it around like a baton during marching band practice. South sat down beside Wash, slouching against the Training Room's wall as she did so. Her head and loose hair fell forward as if the woman was about to crash after having so little sleep this past week. Knowing South, she could be out within minutes, oblivious to Tex's bad talk and Carolina's retorts over the radio. The woman had a gift, and she did not squander it.

"Okay . . . match starting in 3, 2, 1 . . ." North's voice echoed through the radio.

So practice continued, as if nothing wrong had ever happened. The match passed by much too quickly, and then it was Wash's turn back in the ring, this time with Maine as his temporary partner. The sparring session helped distract him from his nervous thoughts. Soon, as he gave South an electrical whack to her side and avoided North's own attack, Wash forgot all about Connie's unusual tantrum as his attention shifted to the makeshift battlefield. 

He worked well with Maine, but it wasn't Connie by his side. 

* * *

Wash's back ached as he tried his best to get out of his under-suit. He groaned as he rolled his shoulders, feeling the spot where South had whacked him. The Mjolnir armor had indeed taken the brunt of the punishment, but Wash knew he would be sore there for the entirety of the weekend. By tomorrow morning he would be incredibly stiff, perhaps even limping from where North had hit him.

However, judging from the groans of the other three men, he wasn't the only one feeling the effect of today’s training session. York was being incredibly vocal about it. As the older man tried to put on a pair of sweats, he had difficulty raising both of his legs. Despite himself, Wash couldn't help but chuckle; Maine and Tex were never the ones to go easy on their opponents. 

"If you groan any louder, I'm going to think you're having an orgasm, York." North teased as he effortlessly put on a clean shirt. He grinned as his best friend glared at him, and he watched as York finally succeeded in putting on one pants leg. York futilely attempted the second, and then moaned again. "Man, Carolina's going to be jealous." 

At that, Maine barked a laugh, his shoulders rising and falling sharply with each intake of a breath. Wash joined him, momentarily forgetting about the confrontation he had with Carolina. North usually wasn't the comedian of Squad Alpha, but when he cracked a joke, it was a good one. As York gave Wash a steely glare, the younger Freelancer couldn't help but laugh as his lips turned against him and trembled into a sloppy, shit eating grin.

"You've got to admit it, it was kind of funny." Wash said, grinning as he changed into a clean T-shirt.

"Yeah. Very funny. Laugh it up guys. Come Monday, I'll have my sweet, sweet revenge." York said, pointing an accusing finger at all three of them. He raised an eyebrow, his brown eyes holding a fiery passion within, challenging them right there and now. 

North raised his hands in immediate surrender, but it was his grin that gave the man away. He let out another small chuckle before he spoke in his defense. However, North's words were lost on Wash as his attention was shifted off of their shenanigans and onto the buzzing in his pocket. Wash quickly pulled out his phone.

_Party's not starting until you guys get here. Any idea when you'll be in Chicago?—Tucker, 5:06_

_Practice just ended 10 minutes ago. We'll probably get to your apartment around 7:30 if the weather behaves.—Wash, 5:06_

_We'll try to make sure Caboose doesn't eat the damn cake before then.—Tucker, 5:07_

At least something good will come out of the day. Wash had almost forgotten about Church's birthday party after all the excitement he already went through. Both he and Tex had been invited to join the Reds and Blues in the festivities. Tex had been invited due to her obvious relation to the birthday boy. But Wash had felt a sense of belonging when that invitation was extended to him as well. 

In such a short amount of time, he had been accepted into another circle of friends.

_Please don't tell me he's done that before.—Wash 5:08_

_Oh he has. He's still on Grif's shit list.—Tucker, 5:08_

Wash smiled at that before pocketing his phone. Caboose was definitely a character; he had learned that almost immediately after meeting the guy. Incredibly strong too, Wash remembered. Wash had to admit that he had been afraid that Caboose would snap his back in half when they first met. For a long time only Maine had been able to squeeze him that breathtakingly hard in a hug, and Maine wasn't usually an affectionate man to begin with. 

Wash finished changing into his clothes. He put the rest of his armor into his locker before slamming the metal door shut in one swift motion. York was still struggling to change, the man's body was protesting with each movement he made. Wash waited with the others until the man was ready to go. Wash sat down on the bench and leaned back into the row of lockers.

"Hey York, have any plans with Carolina this weekend? You know Valentines Day was this Tuesday." North mentioned as he grabbed his water bottle out of his locker. He took a few sips out of it before he continued. "Last year we didn't have leave in February, so you've got to have something special."

York was already shaking his head as North finished. "Nah, we're doing stuff next weekend. Her father's in town and she promised to spend the weekend with him."

"Carolina's father?" Wash tilted his head towards York at that. He shared a glance with Maine, who also looked slightly confused. "That's weird; she's never mentioned anything about her father to us."

"Yeah. She doesn't like to talk about him that much. What I can figure, they had a big fight years ago, and they haven't really spoken since then." York said. He shrugged his shoulders, and then winced when he remembered that that was a bad idea. York brought a hand over to his neck and rubbed it softly. "Whoever he is, he doesn't seem to want to be a big part of her life."

"Have you ever met him?" Wash asked. 

York shook his head again. "Nope. And Carolina doesn't seem too keen on me meeting him at all."

"What about her mother?" North questioned. He was frowning, pondering over this new information. Carolina wasn't one to talk about her life before the Project. Out of all of Squad Alpha, North usually wasn't one to pry into a friend's personal life. But to a certain extent, even he was curious after knowing her for years.

"She passed away when Carolina was young. There's not much else to tell you." York said.

The mood in the locker room quickly changed from lighthearted to solemn. The conversation died with York's words. Wash found himself frowning, and his eyes fell onto his hands resting on his knees. Sometimes it felt like Wash hardly knew his squad members. They've spent over three years together, and still he learned something new about them every other day.

He heard York slam his locker door closed, and then the man stood up. It was followed by a short pause.

"Come on, let's pack and get out of here." York finally said.

Wash nodded his head. He stood up and followed the others out the door. As they left the locker room, Wash spotted Carolina in the far corner of the Training Room. She was still in her armor, and she was not alone. To Wash's horror, it was the Councilor who stood by her side, quietly jotting down notes on a clipboard, his eyes never leaving Carolina's visor.

Wash paused mid-step, halting everyone behind him. He ignored their confused questions as to why he stopped, and he stared at the Councilor.  As the other Freelancers spotted the Councilor as well, the other three men fell silent, and they waited. Wash couldn't hear what Carolina and the Councilor were talking about, their tones too low for him to pick out. But he had a sinking suspicion it was about Connie.

Somehow the Councilor noticed Wash's prying gaze, and the man turned to stare at him. It felt like the man's keen eyes were staring right through Wash's own and reading his thoughts. The Councilor's lips quickly twitched into a frown before he returned to that annoyingly neutral expression. He then jotted a few notes down on his clipboard, his pen twitching as he scribbled his observations quickly.

Carolina crossed her arms, bobbed her head up and down as she spoke, and then the Councilor turned his attention back to Squad Alpha's Leader. Wash could feel his hands tighten into fists in a surge of anger and purpose. He had to do something, defend Connie on her behalf before—

A heavy hand fell on Wash's shoulder.

"Wash." North said, his voice low and serious.  Wash turned to look at him; he felt a burst of betrayal as North frowned and shook his head slowly, almost scolding him. Wash shook off North's reassuring hand, an act that was as immature as Wash felt right now. Wash could feel himself pouting, but North ignored the look. "Don't do something you're going to regret. This  _isn't_  your problem." 

"It should be, North. She's my partner." Wash whispered, the words cutting the air like a burst of sharp wind. He sounded as frustrated as he felt.

"And until she starts acting like she is again, then stay out of it. For your own sake. Please." North stated, his patience audibly beginning to waver. 

Despite his stubbornness, Wash knew when he was fighting for a lost cause. He stared into North's concerned but strict eyes, the blue irises remind Wash too much of his father's, and then turned his gaze down onto the floor in submission. Wash refused to give any inclination that he agreed with North, but the older man seemed to notice that Wash realized he couldn't help the situation. North's shoulders visibly relaxed, and he finally dropped his hand.

Wash could feel the Councilor staring at him again, as if he could sense his restlessness, and his only desire at that moment was to leave immediately. It felt like the Training Room's thick, stale air was choking him. Wash hurried out of the Training Room without looking back at Carolina or the Councilor, nor the men who tried to keep up with him. He paid even smaller attention to the other Freelancers who walked towards the living quarters.

He walked most of his anger off. But it wasn't until he was back in their room did Wash finally calm down. He sat down on his bunk and let out a deep, slow sigh. And another, and another. It had a calming effect on him, and by the time he had calmed down enough, the others were already in the room, packing for the free weekend. Maine grunted and caught Wash's eyes, and he motioned for him to get up and join them.

Wash sighed as he stood up from his seat, and then he grabbed his duffle bag.

Packing didn't take too long, but the four men did it in silence. Tensions were still high, just one of the side effects of Connie's acting out. Wash didn't like the small rift made between his friends, but he certainly wasn't in the mood to make an apology he didn't feel the need to make, and it wouldn't have been genuine to begin with. All Wash wanted to do was stay at Tucker's for the weekend and cool down. 

He'd be able to deal with all this bullshit on Monday. He'd make an appeal for the Councilor on Connie's behalf. He'd fix this, and she would go back to normal old Connie in no time. At least, he kept telling himself that. 

Once they were all packed and set to go, they walked towards the bus yard, along with several other straggling Freelancers, who were all chatting excitedly about the upcoming weekend. As they exited the main facility, Wash faintly heard the sound of a couple bus engines refusing to start in the cold winter weather in the distance. Up ahead, Wash spotted the two old school buses, which had been bought from a high school down the road and repurposed to transport the Freelancer recruits during the weekends. 

In the evening light, the faded yellow paint of the buses looked almost white, making the large black numbers on the sides stick out even more so. Buses numbered 351 and 479.

The men of Squad Alpha made their way to the Chicago bound bus, only to see that Tex and South were already there by the aging vehicle, wrapped up tightly in their winter clothes and waiting for them by the closed door. Both Carolina and Connie were absent, Wash noticed, who then frowned slightly. He had hoped to at least run into Connie; even though he'd be the first to jump to her defense, he still wanted to ask some questions about her behavior this past week. 

South and Tex turned as they heard their companions' approach, stopping mid conversation to greet them.

"Took you guys long enough." South said through a bright smile. She played with the strands of her hair underneath her woolen beanie before stepping forward and softly punching North in the shoulder in her usual display of sisterly affection. "Tex and I were worried that the bus was going to leave without you guys."

"Blame York, Sis." North said, motioning towards his best friend with a jab of his thumb. "He's the one who had trouble getting out of his armor."

"Huh. So if the other recruits started rioting for Four Seven Niner to leave our asses behind, it's York's fault?" South teased as she flashed the Freelancer in question a small smirk. "That's good to know."

"Ha. Ha." York grumbled in response as he shoved his way towards the bus door. Wash could tell that the man didn't like being on the other end of a bad joke that had gone on long enough. "If it's anyone's fault, its Tex and Maine's."

"Hey don't look at us, we were just doing our job." Tex said quickly, raising both of her gloved hands in mock defense. She quickly glanced at Maine, who nodded in agreement as he crossed his arms. "See?"

"Ugh, let's just get on the damn bus already." York groaned.

This earned the man a small laugh or two, and then the group of squad mates let the subject drop, allowing for York to keep what little dignity he had left. York pounded on the side of the yellow school bus, and Four Seven Niner opened the door as she told York to quit hitting her precious baby. The heat from inside the bus flowed out and hit Wash in the face, and he was relieved to finally get out of the cold. 

Four Seven Niner gave them a somewhat friendly smile and a nod as they climbed in. She shut the door behind them as she turned off the overhead lights, making it difficult for Wash to find an empty spot to take. The others quickly found their own seats, and Wash was left searching between heads and over hats to find an open spot. 

A hand suddenly grabbed Wash's elbow and pulled him down into a nearby seat, and he looked at the perpetrator confusedly before he realized who the hand belonged to. Connie sat by the window, staring at the half frosted plane with a deep, irritated frown. She was slouching into the back of the bus seat, arms crossed and legs pressed against the seat ahead. It reminded Wash of the fetal position.

The bus started to roll forward. Wash steadied himself, still staring at his partner, watching the dark reflection in the window casted by the bus's red emergency light above. He felt like he had to say something to her, but he suddenly found himself at a lack of words. What would he say? Judging by the look on Connie's face, she wanted nothing but to brood in silence alone.

Still, Wash found himself opening his mouth. "Connie? What--f"

"Don't! Talk to me right now. . ." Connie snapped, her voice rising with anger before falling to just above a whisper. She sounded so vulnerable.

He was right; it was useless asking for answers when she was in this mood. Nonetheless, Wash nodded slowly and then turned away from Connie and towards the aisle, keeping his prying eyes away from her. He slouched into the bus seat as well before hugging his winter coat closer into him. 

The sound of the bus's engine and ancient heating system quickly lulled him into sleep. He spent the next two hours in and out of consciousness, the rough road's bumps, pot holes, and dips shaking him awake every time. Connie never moved from her spot, practically glued to the window and the dark world outside. Sometimes she would catch his gaze in the window's reflection, but she would scowl before quickly looking away.

Wait. Was she angry at him? Did he do something to make her this angry? That thought didn't sit well with him. When the bus finally rolled to a stop on a busy Chicago street, Wash didn't know what to think anymore.

"Alright, last stop for the evening. Be here by five on Sunday, or else you're finding your own way back to Fort Necessity." Four Seven Niner announced over the bus's comm. system, the radio crackling over her words. She shut off the engine, and the entire bus fell into a brief state of silence. Her statement earned her a few groans and mutterings from the Freelancers in the way back, and she continued over their grumbles. "Oh, quit your belly-aching. Now get off and enjoy yourselves."

Wash slowly stood up and stretched his sore back muscles. He made his way out of the bus along with the other Freelancers and onto the busy sidewalk. The horde of Freelancers was beginning to disperse in different directions, everyone ready to start their weekend off, and Wash searched for Tex among the bodies. She knew her way towards the Reds and Blues’ apartment complex better than he did, and Wash wouldn't mind her company during the walk. 

Before he could spot her, however, Connie came by his side and grabbed his arm roughly. She hugged his arm in a tight hold, as if desperate to keep him at her side. Connie tugged on his arm with a bit too much force as she briskly walked down the street and away from the straggling Freelancers, nonverbally telling him to keep up with her fast pace. As she made them take the next corner, Wash lost his last glimpse of Bus 749.

"Walk with me." She said shortly after; her voice was low and it had a bit of a bite to it, leaving no room for questions or arguments.

Connie led them down the street and towards the opposite direction Wash needed to go. As they went, she took so many twists and turns down streets he'd never been on that Wash realized he was going to be completely lost when she'd finally stop. After ten minutes Connie started to slow down. They had moved into another neighborhood, one that was more residential than commercial, which had obviously slowed down after the sun had set. People were in their homes, eating dinner and watching their nightly television programs before retiring to bed.

It felt like he and Connie were the only ones out on the street. Even the traffic in the streets had dwindled down. Connie loosened her hold on Wash as they crossed the road and entered a deserted public park. In the dark night, their only company was a few streetlamps that were flickering between off and on and the light snowfall that drifted through the breeze.

Connie finally released Wash's arm once they were deep inside the park, but she continued to move onward, as if giving Wash the option to leave if he wished. She walked down the snow beaten path, undeterred as the street lamp above flickered off and on, its old bulb almost spent. Wash followed her until they came across a snow covered park bench. Connie bent over and dusted the snow off of the bench with a gloved hand. She sat down, giving off a loud sigh as she did so. She stared off into the distance, her eyes not really focusing on anything in particular, and then she turned to look at Wash expectantly.

It was the only invitation she was going to give him, that much he knew. Wash hesitantly sat down next to her. They spent a few minutes in the cold silence.

Finally Wash spoke up, his concern urging him to break this tense silence. "Care to tell me why you dragged me all the way over here?"

There was a pause as Connie frowned, thinking hard. Wash almost thought she was ignoring him.

"I needed to speak with you. But in private, where no one else could listen in on us." Connie said curtly. She played with her gloved hands nervously for a few seconds, biting her bottom lip as she did so. It was one of her nervous traits. There was another long pause before Connie continued. "Back in the Training Room. You fought with Carolina?”

“Of course.” Wash said. He wasn’t sure how she had heard about it, but Connie always had a strange gift of knowing these kinds of things.

“Don’t.”

That one word response threw Wash through a loop. He quickly glanced at her, only to see that she looking away, averting her eyes. She had that look back on her face, the same one she had worn when Carolina berated her earlier.

“You don't have to stand up for me, Wash. I can take care of my damn self."

It was Wash's turn to let out a deep sigh as he shook his head in denial. He wasn’t going to let this go. "Look, I'm not sorry for sticking my neck out for you, Connie. It's what partners do for each other. If I don't, who knows what the Director or the Councilor will do when they hear you're refusing training."

"What? Like take me off of the _Leader Board_? Kick me out of the Project?" Connie's tone of voice turned condescending. She let out a hapless chuckle as she brought one hand up to rub her face. Connie then roughly ripped her gloves off as she spoke, shoving them into her coat pockets. "The Leader Board is just a cheap trick to keep us in line and focused on each other. And they wouldn't dare kick me out now. We're too far into the Project for them to risk finding a replacement for me."

"Connie. This doesn't sound like you."

It really didn't. This wasn't the Connie he had met back when he first arrived at Fort Necessity. That Connie had been shy at first, but had always been openly friendly and a hard worker. Her stubbornness and dedication to the Project had been her entire drive. It had rivaled even Carolina’s.

Wash had always struggled to keep up with her back then, even when they were made partners. But Connie had been kind and patient and always willing to lend him a helping hand. If it hadn't been for her, and the countless hours of practicing together in their free time, Wash probably wouldn't have made the cut for Squad Alpha.

Something had happened to Connie, because this bitter stranger wasn't his best friend.

"What happened to you?" He whispered, watching his breath in the cold air.

"Nothing that hasn't happened to you, Wash. I just have my eyes open." Connie stated matter-of-factly. Wash watched as Connie gripped at her jeans tightly, her already cold knuckles turning white under the force. What was eating away at her? "Sometimes, I feel like I'm the only one who's noticing things. Small things. Things that don't add up. Everyone else is giving a blind eye, turning the other way or shrugging it off. And it’s frustrating me,  _so_   _much_."

"What things are you noticing?" Wash asked cautiously, hoping that she would confine to him, allow him to see what was bothering her so much.

But he had no such luck. Connie was shaking her head, refusing to let him in on her thoughts. It hurt Wash a little inside when he came to the realization that she didn’t trust him like she did months ago. And if she didn’t trust him, then she wouldn’t with Maine either. Or anyone. She must feel so alone.

Connie took in a deep breath and lowered her head until it rested against the scarf hung around her neck. As Connie let a deep breath out through her nose, she straightened a bit in her seat. Her bitter frown turned sad, and some of the weight on her shoulders had fallen off. Her brown eyes looked like they were watering, but that may have been Wash’s imagination or from the sharp chill in the night air.

"I hate where the Project is going. Everything's a competition now. I guess . . . it’s always been one, but it’s never been this bad . . ." Connie said in a hushed town. 

"Why would it be a competition? We're all working towards the same goal, Connie." Wash asked through a shiver. The cold temperature was starting to get to him; he hadn’t dressed to spend a long time outside. Wash nodded his head as he continued, almost as if he was trying to convince himself as well as her. "Don’t forget that we're still a team."

"Are we, Wash? Because the last time I checked, the goal seemed to be who can get higher on the Leader Board."

"Connie. There’s nothing wrong with the Leader Board. It’s harmless. It's just the Director's way to motivate us to work harder."

"That's not the way I see it, Wash." Connie muttered under her breath, as if hoping Wash wouldn't hear it. But Wash did, although he let it slide for the meantime. “But I’ve already said this.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wind as it began to pick up. Wash was unsure of what to say, knowing that any offer to help Connie or to sway her to confine to him would be refused without thought.

“Anything else you wanted to talk about?” Wash asked; the silence between them had gone on for long enough. He kept his gaze forward, unsure of whether risking a glance would sour her mood even more so.

Connie shook her head. She suddenly stood up. “No. I’m ready to go. Sorry for wasting your time, Wash.”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“I’m done talking. I guess I didn’t really know what to say in the first place when I pulled you away. But at least now I know what you think.”

Wash quickly realized that she had been testing him. This whole damn time. And he had failed.

“Connie. _Please_.” Wash was desperate now. He stood up and followed her. Wash didn’t want to let this conversation end on a sour note, not when Connie’s whole day had been rotten. Not when he was the final fuck up. Wash needed to fix this. “You need to talk about this with me. Help me understand where you’re coming from. You know you can trust me, Connie.”

"Don't call me Connie." She finally snapped, freezing in place.

Wash paused; he was startled that Connie would cut him off so abruptly, and with so much anger and disgust in her voice. Wash closed his mouth as he stared at Connie, who stood in the middle of the snow beaten path. She turned slightly so she could face him, and Wash could see her frustrated, irritated expression as she spoke. She was scowling at him. But after she noticed Wash’s hurt expression, her face softened slightly. It lasted for a brief second, and then she made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and turned away again.

"It makes me sound like a fucking kid.” She continued as she walked away, her feet crunching the snow beneath her. She held her arms close as she shivered in the cold. “Call me CT." 


End file.
